imwiimmimiiii  [iiimmitmiimiuiiHnHH 


tit  1 


8  57  A 


IN   CURE   OF   HER   SOUL 


OTHER    WORKS    OF    FICTION 
BY    F.    J.    STIMSON 


FIRST   HARVESTS. 

OUR  CONSUL  AT  CARLSRUHE. 

THE   CRIME   OF   HENRY   VANE. 

THE    SENTIMENTAL    CALENDAR. 

JETHRO  BACON  OF  SANDWICH  ;   THE  WEAKER  SEX. 

MRS  KNOLLYS   AND   OTHER   STORIES. 

THE   RESIDUARY  LEGATEE. 

IN    THREE    ZONES. 

KING    NOANETT. 

PIRATE   GOLD. 

GUERNDALE. 


OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 


LAUREL   RUN 


II 


The  operatives  all  clustered  around   Mary   Ravenel." 

[Page  284.] 


IN   CURE  OF 
HER  SOUL 


"  Playes  made  from  hallie  tales  I  holde  unmeete; 
Lette  somme  greate  storie  of  a  manne  be  songe." 

— CHATTERTON. 


NEW  YORK 

D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 
1906 


COPYRIGHT,  1906,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


Published  June.  1906 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

BOOK  ONE 1 

BOOK  TWO ifjs 

BOOK  THREE 295 

BOOK  FOUR 519 


2133067 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 

'  The  operatives  all  clustered  around  Mary  Ravenel " 

Frontispiece 

'  He  bent  over  her,  waiting " 26 

'She  whispered  very  softly:  'By  having  no  heart  in  it!'"  112 

' '  Brazen  it  out,  Peter  !    Brazen  it  out ! ' "       .       .       .       .  238 

'  They   came    now   out   on    a   crag    where   all   the    world 

around  was  lower  land " 288 

' '  In  my  days  we  did  not  play  with  a  man '  "             .       .  342 

'  Like    a   fat,    black    spider    with    his    legs    drawn    under 

him" 426 

'  One  lamp  burned  there  continually " 598 

'  It  passed  through  the  iron  doors  for  the  last  time  "  .       .  604 


BOOK     ONE 

SAGA  : 

"  Oh,  it  was  Olaf  Trygvasen, 
Sailing  o'er  the  grey  seas  young? 


IT  was  a  little  nook  of  meadow,  sloping  to  a 
point  where  the  forest  edges  met.  Behind,  the 
hill  rose,  rocky,  covered  close  with  old  dwarfed  trees. 
The  sun  lay  hot  in  the  little  triangle  of  lawn,  but 
from  the  narrow  combe  below  came  a  strong  draught 
of  cool  salt  air.  There  the  Sea  lay,  masked. 

Altogether  one  of  the  sweetest  of  those  sweet 
places  on  the  Beverly  shore  where  the  sea  and 
forest  touch:  appreciated  as  such  by  the  good  taste 
of  Mrs  Arthur  Shirley  and  thought  worthy,  with 
out  alteration,  of  forming  a  nook  within  her  lawn. 

Had  you  asked  young  Austin  Pinckney,  four- 
and-twenty  as  he  lay  there,  whether  the  drama  of 
his  life  lay  yet  behind  him,  I  think  he  would  have 
been  honest  enough  to  tell  you  No.  Most  young 
men,  however  young,  fancy  they  have  had  experi 
ences  ;  as  they  fancy  always  that  they  are  in  love : 
they  want  to  be,  and  it  is  quite  enough  if  they  like 
any  one  girl  better  than  another.  But  Pinckney 
was  no  fool;  and,  born  in  Germany,  he  had  lived  in 
Paris,  had  been  through  colleges  in  America  and 
England,  and  now  came  to  the  land  of  his  fathers 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  for  good."  For  the  one  thing  his  somewhat  pur 
poseless  father  had  determined  (he  had  lived  his  life 
as  Consul  at  Carlsruhe)  was  that  his  son  Charles 
should  make  a  career  at  home. 

Pinckney,  then,  had  had  no  experiences — no 
more  than  the  brook  beside  which  he  lay ;  which  was 
born  but  a  few  rods  behind  him,  by  some  hoary 
gray  rocks  in  the  wrood,  in  a  cradle  of  pines,  gurgled 
merrily  out  into  its  first  sunlight,  sunny  and  clear; 
it  showed  its  depths  to  the  sky ;  then  with  hardly 
a  fall,  it  sprang  through  the  little  combe  and,  still 
all  ignorant  whether  it  was  to  become  a  Mississippi 
or  a  Merrimac,  it  met  the  ocean — and  all  was  over. 
So  soon  born,  so  soon  to  enter  the  sea. 

Pinckney's  plans  had  been  to  enter  public  life. 
It  is  more  difficult  in  America  than  in  England,  and 
for  that  purpose,  not  with  much  view  to  practice, 
he  meant  to  study  the  law.  In  America  a  man  must 
take  some  mask  of  serving  himself  if  he  would  serve 
his  country. 

For  the  furtherance  of  these  two  ambitions,  he 
intended  to  maintain  a  small  office  in  some  upper 
floor  on  Pine  Street,  and  had  already  become  an 
active  member  of  the  New  York  Civil  Service  Re 
form  Club.  Furthermore,  he  had  written  an  essay 
upon  the  Australian  ballot  and  had  become  a  member 
of  the  Charity  Organization  Society.  He  was  now 

4 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

considering  whether  he  should  go  to  the  Cambridge 
Law  School  or  first  pass  a  year  with  the  New  York 
firm  whose  leading  partner  was  their  family  trustee. 

If  he  had  any  other  musings,  plannings,  or 
dreamings — they  were  probably  plannings :  one  only 
dreams  of  the  unattainable — the  day  and  place  dis 
couraged  all  but  dreams.  And  even  if  our  hero  had 
the  wish  so  strongly  as  to  be  the  subject  of  a  dream, 
the  very  real  Miss  Dorothy  Somers  that  was  its 
object  was  so  tangible  and  near  a  possibility  (she 
only  lived  so  far  away  as  Philadelphia)  as  hardly 
to  disturb  his  waking  hours.  Her  he  had  met 
abroad :  with  her  he  had  come  through  that  Ameri 
can  form  of  trying-it-on  flirtation  which  (however 
unelevated)  serves  a  practical  nation  a  practical 
purpose.  It  is  as  much  as  to  say,  Would  we  like  it 
were  we  wed?  And — wisely  perhaps — our  matrons 
allow  their  young  to  spend  half  the  day  and  night 
together,  to  see  if  they  are  bored  in  that.  She  was 
very  beautiful,  only  eighteen ;  certainly  he  had  been 
"  taken  with  her." 

But  that  she  filled  no  great  space,  in  his  mind 
at  least,  for  the  moment,  would  appear  from  the 
start  with  which  he  heard  her  name  mentioned.  For 
his  musings,  plannings,  dreamings  were  disturbed 
just  here  by  old  Tom  Brandon,  called  by  all  the 
world  the  Major,  who  sauntered  agreeably  up  to 

5 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tell  him,  first,  that  the  dressing-bell  had  sounded, 
and  second  (but  of  less  personal  importance)  that 
young  Gansevoort  was  "  caught  "  at  last. 

"  And  by  the  Somers,  of  all  people  in  the  world," 
said  he,  "  Miss  Dorothy  Somers ;  they  say  she  is  a 
beauty." 

And  this  it  was  that  made  our  hero  start ;  could 
the  Major  have  been  aware?  But  furthermore  he 
said  nothing;  and  the  two  went  in  to  dinner. 

It  must  not  be  thought  Tom  Brandon  was  a 
gossip.  Men  really  do  not  gossip  so  much  as 
women ;  and  Tom  Brandon  only  liked  to  hear  the 
news :  he  did  not  fabricate  it,  nor  anticipate  it ;  and 
when  he  had  fairly  heard  it,  he  dismissed  it  from 
his  mind  with,  at  most,  a  remark  or  two.  No,  he 
was  not  a  gossip ;  but  he  took  a  kindly  interest  in 
the  affairs  of  men.  He  belonged  to  that  large  fel 
lowship  who  must  get  their  interest  in  life  from 
the  lives  of  others,  not  their  own.  They  are  not  to 
be  confounded  with  an  analogous  company  that  live 
on  others'  money,  houses,  and  yachts,  and  give  re 
turn  of  gossip  and  fine  raiment ;  he  was  rich  enough ; 
to  the  race  of  our  Tom  belong  the  nobler  renunci- 
ators  and  the  kindly  companions.  Perhaps  he  had 
had  a  dream  in  his  youth ;  a  dream  with  no  awaken 
ing.  And  Tom  had  taken  a  fancy  to  our  hero;  for 
give  him,  then,  his  little  experiment. 

6 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"Gansevoort?  Petrus  Gansevoort?  Why,  he's 
half-witted,"  was  all  our  hero  said,  as  they  ap 
proached  the  veranda  from  the  lawn. 

"  Oh,  no — only  reserved — kept  apart  from  an 
avid  world,"  said  Tom.  But  Pinckney  had  pulled 
himself  together  and  expressed  himself  no  more. 
From  which  Mr  Brandon  was  too  old  a  bird  to  draw 
conclusions. 


II 


MRS  ARTHUR  SHIRLEY  was  Austin  Pinck- 
ney's  first  cousin.  Her  mother's  sister  had 
been  Mary  Austin,  who  married  her  cousin  Charles 
Pinckney,  and  died  many  years  before.  As  they 
walked  up  her  lawn  there  was  a  glimmer  of  bright 
dresses  on  the  veranda,  no  unpleasant  thing  to  see  even 
when  a  man  is  hungry ;  and  a  glimmer  of  white  arms 
and  shoulders  (for  dinner  was  at  eight,  to  do  no 
injustice  to  her  sunset),  no  unpleasant  thing  to  see 
even  when  a  man  is  cold.  And  there  was  already 
an  evening  chill  in  the  air. 

There  was  a  murmur  of  excited  voices  as  our 
men  came  up.  It  was  soon  evident  that  they,  too, 
were  discussing  the  great  engagement ;  that  gos 
samer  "  maiden's  yes  "  that  determined  the  future 
of  so  many  millions.  Our  dear  old  Doctor  Holmes 

7 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

has  told  us  of  that  yes  of  another  Dorothy,  and 
that  it  determined  future  men ;  yet  probably  the 
newspapers  of  that  time  did  not  chronicle  it.  But 
to-morrow  you  would  find  in  most  newspapers  of 
the  land  a  space  awarded  to  this  affirmative  of 
Dorothy's  rather  more  than  was  given  to  the  great 
labor  troubles — only  less  perhaps  than  they  ac 
corded  to  a  murder  with  an  ax,  followed  by  dis 
section,  authorship  unknown.  There  would  be  a 
picture  of  the  murdered  woman's  body ;  perhaps 
also  there  would  now  be  one  of  Miss  Somers ;  her 
person  would  at  all  events  be  described  minutely, 
as  well  as  the  contents  of  Gansevoort's  purse. 

The  girls  did  not  stop  talking  upon  Pinckney's 
approach,  and  he  felt  glad  of  the  chance  that  he 
had  had  previous  notice  of  their  news ;  not  dreaming 
that  old  Tom  Brandon  had  wandered  in  the  shrub 
beries  for  half  an  hour  to  find  him.  But  it  was 
evident  that  some  of  them,  at  least,  did  not  take 
the  newspaper  view  of  the  situation.  If  some  of 
the  girls  were  dazzled  by  its  prominence,  most 
American  women  fortunately  are  too  fine  for  any 
solution  of  life  problems  but  the  truth.  A  woman 
of  thirty,  just  married  (and  American  girls  at 
thirty  are  at  their  best),  spoke  openly.  "I  have 
had  a  letter  from  a  friend  in  Philadelphia,"  she 
said.  "  She  tells  me  that  her  mother  has  brought 

8 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the    whole    thing    about.     She    was    a    Riddle,    you 
know." 

Pinckney  excused  himself  on  the  plea  that  he 
must  dress  for  dinner.  A  leather  bag  for  the  house 
letters  hung  always  at  the  Shirleys'  front  door ;  his 
eye  caught  it  as  he  passed,  and  going  to  his  room, 
he  seized  a  sheet  of  note-paper  and  began  to  write. 
He  had  but  half  an  hour  to  dress,  and  twenty  min 
utes  were  spent  in  the  writing  of  this  note: 

"  DEAR  Miss  SOMERS  : 

"  Is  it  true — what  I  heard  to-day  ?     Are  you  engaged  ? 
"  Yours, 

"C.  A.  PINCKNEY." 

Fifteen  minutes  of  the  time  was  spent  in  de 
termining  the  adverb.  He  wrote  "  Yours  ever," 
"  Yours  sincerely,"  "  Yours  faithfully,"  and  finally 
settled  on  just  "  Yours."  He  addressed  the  note 
and  sealed  it  carefully.  Then  he  dressed  hurriedly, 
still  thinking;  so  carelessly  that  his  tie  became  an 
object  of  contemptuous  notice  to  Sammy  Bowles, 
downstairs.  As  Pinckney  came  down  and  crossed 
the  slippery  hall,  he  saw  that  all  the  company  had 
gone  in  to  dinner.  He  stopped  a  moment  by  the 
leather  post-bag,  the  note  in  his  hand.  Then  he 
tore  it  up,  threw  the  fragments  carefully  in  the 
fireplace,  and  went  in. 

2  9 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

It  has  been  said  that  you  have  three  chances  of 
happiness  at  a  dinner  (wherein  it  is  three  times  a 
better  thing  than  life) — the  woman  to  the  left  of 
you,  the  woman  to  the  right  of  you,  and  the  cook. 
Older  men,  they  say,  have  a  fourth  in  the  bottle. 
But  youth  is  indifferent  to  its  chances,  exacts  its 
choice  of  fate,  and  has  a  digestion  too  perfect  to 
be  discriminating.  To  Pinckney's  left  was  a  clever- 
hearted  woman,  to  his  right  a  sweet-minded  girl ; 
the  Major  would  have  looked  at  the  one  and  talked 
to  the  other ;  Pinckney  looked  and  talked  haphazard 
and  ate  no  dinner.  His  mind  was  busy  assuring  his 
heart  that  it  had  no  personal  interest  in  the  future 
of  Miss  Dorothy  Somers.  Then  suddenly  he  heard 
her  name  and  felt  the  blood  mounting  to  his  beard 
less  cheek.  Boys  are  very  like  girls ;  despite  any 
difference  of  moral  code  or  conduct,  prudence  is 
shared  by  both  sexes  alike ;  most  men  will  blush 
longer  than  a  woman  will.  As  if  one  should  be 
ashamed  of  caring,  however  lightly,  for  another  one ! 

"  Why  does  she  do  it  ?  "  his  married  neighbor 
had  said;  and  it  became  evident  that  Gansevoort  was 
regarded  as  quite  impossible.  The  Major  asked 
how  old  she  was. 

"  Not  twenty,"  said  Mrs  Shirley.  "  I  remem 
ber  when  Dolly  Riddle  married  Mr  Somers  at  New 
port  in  the  sixties ;  nobody  knew  much  about  him ; 

10 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

he  was  thought  rich.  But  the  daughter  cannot  be 
twenty." 

"  Too  young,"  said  the  Major,  "  to  have  had  the 
usual  explanation —  The  Major  seldom  forced  his 
efforts,  but  this  time  he  paused  for  the  expected 
question.  Every  woman  at  the  table  asked  it  ex 
cept  the  young  girl  on  Pinckney's  right,  who 
opened  expectant  eyes. 

"  Another  man,"  said  Brandon,  sententiously. 
His  glance  fell  upon  Pinckney  as  he  spoke.  But 
Pinckney  knew  it  was  not  he.  He  knew  well  enough 
what  the  Major  meant,  though,  and  his  conscious 
ness  got  a  lonely  moment  while  the  others  were  ask 
ing  the  oracle  to  be  explicit. 

Suddenly  his  pulses  bounded  again.  Could  it 
be — but  no ;  he  was  not  vain  enough  for  that.  Yet 
he  had  never  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

"  If  there  wasn't  a  man  in  the  past  to  make  her 
do  it,  there  ought  to  be  a  man  in  the  present  to  pre 
vent  her,"  went  on  Brandon.  "  Where  are  all  you 
young  chaps?  Is  your  blood  all  cooled  by  money- 
making?  Ah,  there  was  a  use  for  the  gentleman 
of  leisure." 

"  Why  don't  you  try  it  yourself,  Major  Bran 
don  ?  "  It  was  the  clever  lady  on  Pinckney's  left 
who  spoke. 

"  Ah,  madam,  I  am  too  old  for  love-making " 

11 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  /  shouldn't  think  so,"  said  the  lady  gal 
lantly. 

The  Major  pressed  his  hand  to  his  heart.  "  But 
perhaps  with  me  there  was  a  long  time  ago.  I  re 
main  true  to  an  early  dream,"  closed  Brandon  with 
mocking  solemnity.  For  he  had  a  cynic's  disbelief 
in  the  world's  understanding. 

"  You  ?  "  cried  Mrs  Shirley.  "  Girls,  he  was  the 
greatest  flirt  I  ever  knew." 

"  My  flirtations  were  but  a  mask  to  hide  my  con 
stancy."  There  was  a  general  laugh,  and  the  con 
versation  drifted  from  the  danger  point. 

But  after  dinner,  on  the  piazza  above  the  sea- 
broken  crags,  Pinckney  found  the  Major  beside  him, 
and  they  smoked  together.  Pinckney  hoped  the 
older  man  would  talk  of  Miss  Somers  again ;  but 
the  Major  persistently  didn't.  On  the  contrary,  he 
maintained  entire  silence;  but  the  Major's  silence 
could  be  suggestive.  So  pretty  soon  our  hero  found 
himself  asking  the  Major  if  he  knew  Miss  Somers. 

"  No,"  said  the  Major,  "  do  you?  " 

"  A  little — is  Pete  Gansevoort  as  bad  as  he  is 
represented?  " 

"  He  is  very  bad,  very  coarse,  very  stupid,  very 
rich " 

"  It  seems  a  pity  she  can't  be  saved  from  it." 

"  Is  she  worth  saving?  " 
12 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Pinckncy's  voice  shook,  ever  so  little.  "  I  think 
so,"  said  he.  "  I  don't  know  her  very  well." 

"  Then  I  advise  you  not  to  trouble  yourself 
about  her." 

"  But — suppose  one  were  her  friend — appar 
ently  she  has  none  near  her — would  it  not  be  rather 
terrible  not  to  trouble  oneself?  Her  soul  is  too  fine 
for  his." 

"  Young  man,"  said  the  Major,  sententiously, 
"  one  lesson  I  learned  in  early  life :  never  to  trouble 
oneself  about  young  women's  souls." 


Ill 


PINCKNEY  had  been  landed  only  a  very  few 
days  from  a  summer  spent  in  Baden,  the 
country  of  his  birth.  He  had  come  to  New  York ; 
and  there  had  only  stopped  to  report  at  the  prom 
inent  firm  already  alluded  to  and  to  engage  himself 
rooms  in  a  fashionable  bachelors'  flat  on  Fifth  Ave 
nue.  All  this  his  patrimony  permitted.  His  father 
was  deceased,  and  his  three  sisters  had  married  three 
German  barons.  Then  he  had  come  right  on  to  the 
North  Shore.  It  was  in  the  most  practical  state  of 
mind  that  he  had  returned  from  London ;  he  was 
about  to  enter  into  American  civilization  in  good 

13 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

earnest  and  begin  by  mastering  the  as  yet  unde 
cided  intricacies  of  the  New  York  code  of  practice. 
He  also  meant  to  read  some  law.  Eclecticism  is  the 
vice  of  America's  youth. 

But,  besides  this,  Pinckney  had  been  brought 
up  abroad  by  a  father  who  was  expatriated,  side 
tracked.  Possibly  to  such  the  home  looks  fairer ; 
at  all  events,  the  son  was  full  of  enthusiasm  about 
America.  He  hoped  to  adorn  it,  with  his  life ;  but 
furthermore  to  live  his  life,  as  a  citizen.  His  lot 
to  work  among  the  poor  in  college  settlements, 
among  the  poor  in  spirit,  in  courageous  action, 
among  the  poor  in  ideals,  in  the  higher  civic  duty. 
Among  his  side  motives,  it  is  quite  possible  the  poor 
boy  counted  the  regeneration  of  the  city  government 
of  New  York,  for  that  was  to  be  the  town  of  his 
adoption ;  it  was  the  biggest  place,  the  most  typical. 
Yet  the  guidance  of  his  country's  women,  still  less 
of  any  one  countrywoman,  had  never  yet  assailed  his 
mind.  In  the  American  girl,  as  Pinckney  believed, 
there  was  no  flaw.  She  was  no  part  of  his  problem. 
But  the  streamlet  flows  where  the  land  falls. 

Coming  out  before  breakfast,  next  morning,  he 
met  one  of  the  most  charming  of  them ;  she  was 
climbing  on  the  cliffs  that  fringed  the  lawn,  hold 
ing  on  to  the  overhanging  birch  trees,  and  the  sea 
made  a  raucous  noise  at  her  feet.  When  they  came 

14 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

back  to  breakfast,  he  asked  his  cousin  if  it  was 
de  rigueur  for  them  to  go  to  church.  But  the  Shir- 
leys  were  good  old  Boston  Unitarians,  and  his  cousin 
seemed  rather  puzzled  at  the  question.  A  Boston 
Unitarian  only  finds  out  at  his  funeral  what  church 
he  does  attend.  "  The  church  is  at  Beverly,"  she 
said.  "  You  may  go  if  you  like ;  I  think  there  will 
be  room.  The  break  will  start  at  ten." 

The  break  started  without  Austin,  or  his  com 
panion,  who  was  his  young  dinner  neighbor  of  the 
night  before.  They  walked  along  the  cliffs  to  the 
beach,  and  then  along  the  beach  to  Manchester, 
where  Pinckney  managed  to  hire  a  dory  to  row  home. 
Fortunately,  the  day  was  still,  and  the  young  lady 
was  in  russet  shoes  and  short  skirt.  Pinckney  liked 
the  young  lady  very  much ;  but  he  did  not  ask  her 
how  much  she  liked  him.  Mrs  Shirley  seemed  rather 
pleased  at  their  being  late  to  luncheon,  and  sug 
gested  they  should  go  to  drive  in  the  buckboard  for 
the  afternoon.  Pinckney  was  already  too  much  of 
an  American  to  be  misled  by  the  national  temper  of 
kindly  approval  of  the  companionship  of  young  peo 
ple;  but  it  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  talk  long  to  one 
young  girl  when  thinking  of  one  other.  The  boy 
found  himself  in  a  gentle  mood  that  evening.  He 
half  regretted  not  sending  that  letter.  After  din 
ner  he  had  little  mind  for  the  men's  talk,  but  a 

15 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

certain  inbred  sense  of  conduct  bade  him  avoid  the 
young  girl.  So  pretty  soon  he  joined  his  cousin 
and  her  married  friend  on  the  dark  piazza,  where 
the  sea  was  making  reminiscent  noises. 

"  I  assure  you  that  it  is  all  the  mother's  doing," 
the  friend  was  saying.  "  She  writes  me  that  she  is 
constantly  with  her,  but  the  poor  girl  is  crying  night 
and  day." 

Our  hero  promptly  sheered  off,  crossing  the 
lawn ;  under  the  shadow  of  some  cedars  he  lit  a  cigar ; 
and  then  went  down  the  cliffs  and  wandered  on  the 
strip  of  shingle,  as  he  thought,  to  think.  But  the 
sea,  or  anything  eternal,  is  a  most  dangerous  com 
panion  at  such  times ;  entering  into  our  emotions 
with  a  relation  quite  temporary  and  personal.  Only 
persons  without  imagination  call  the  ocean  or  the 
night  sky  of  stars  or  the  void  prairies  unsympa 
thetic  at  such  moments.  To  us  others  it  seems  to 
say :  We  are  indeed  eternal,  but  our  courses  are  fixed ; 
you  may  really  will  something.  We  have  no  pas 
sions  ;  but  you  can  act.  We  feel  with  you ;  and  you 
are  right  in  feeling  as  you  do.  Generally,  this  con 
verse  with  inanimate  nature  impels  to  animate  action. 

And  then,  the  young  man  didn't  sleep;  or  not 
for  some  hours.  Visioned  in  the  darkness  was  the 
image  of  a  lovely  girl,  crying  in  her  room,  alone. 

There  is  something  reassuring  in  the  voice  of 
16 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

birds,  even  after  the  most  unquiet  night ;  and  the 
moment  they  began  to  sing,  outside  amid  the  fruit 
trees,  Pinckney  fell  asleep.  He  woke  with  a  start, 
at  breakfast  time;  and  hurrying  downstairs,  he  had 
another  start  as  he  went  through  the  hall.  For 
there  on  the  table,  amid  all  the  less  momentous  let 
ters,  lay  one  whose  postmark  the  young  man  divined 
before  he  snatched  it  up  to  look  at  it;  it  was  Phila 
delphia,  and  the  handwriting  he  knew ;  and  he  blushed 
as  he  thrust  it  hastily  into  his  pocket.  Fortunately, 
it  was  his  left  hand,  so  that  his  right  was  free  to 
shake  his  cousin's ;  his  other  hand  still  grasped  the 
letter  tightly  as  if  it  were  needful  to  hold  it  down. 
There  was  no  chance  to  look  at  it  before  he  sat 
down  to  breakfast,  and  he  wondered  how  she  could 
have  learned  his  address.  "  No  sugar,  please,"  he 
said  to  Mrs  Shirley  for  the  second  time.  After  all, 
it  was  probably  a  mere  note,  announcing  her  en 
gagement,  written  to  him  with  fifty  other  friends. 
At  last,  the  meal  was  over;  he  ran  up  to  his  bed 
room  and  broke  the  seal — it  was  addressed  to  him 

at  Mrs  Shirley's: 

"PHILADELPHIA,  September  2,  1884. 
"  DEAR  MR  PINCKNEY  : 

"  Have  you  heard  of  my  engagement  to  Mr  Gansevoort  ? 
I  know  you  have  returned,  and  though  you  have  not  come 
to  congratulate  me,  I  am  still 

"  Yours,      DOROTHY  SOMERS." 

17 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

There  was  the  faintest  possible  dash  before  the 
word  "  congratulate " ;  otherwise  the  note  was  a 
natural  enough  note,  he  argued,  if  written  to  an  old 
friend.  It  was  odd  she  had  used  the  form  of  sig 
nature  adopted  for  the  note  he  had  torn  up,  and 
the  "  still "  might  mean  anything.  Nonsense,  it 
referred  to  the  "  though  "  before  it. 

As  he  folded  it  and  replaced  it  carefully  in  his 
pocket,  he  noticed  that  his  heart  was  beating  vio 
lently. 


IV 


A  MAN  need  love  a  woman  very  little  before 
he  begins  to  think  that  he  alone  can  make 
her  happy,"  said  the  Major  impressively.  It  was 
the  middle  of  the  same  morning;  Youth  and  Age 
were  lying  on  the  grass  together;  and  Youth, 
in  form  supposititious,  had  been  laying  before 
Age  something  of  his  own  case.  "  She'll  do  very 
well." 

"  I  don't  think  I  alone  can  make  her  happy," 
said  Youth.  "  I  have  no  intention  of  trying.  But 
I  can't  avoid  going  to  see  her." 

Age  paused,  before  replying,  to  listen  to  the 
long  smooth  slide  of  the  pebbles  in  the  chasm 
below. 

18 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  You  live  in  New  York,  she  in  Philadelphia ; 
there  is  an  excuse  in  ninety  miles.  She  can  hardly 
telephone  you — that  distance — 

"  Her  note  requires  some  answer — 

"  It  needn't  be  personal." 

"  Look  at  it,"  cried  Youth  impulsively,  thrust 
ing  the  document  in  the  hand  of  Age.  The  Major 
fingered  it  as  if  it  were  a  bomb. 

"  Please  read  it,"   said  Pinckney. 

The  Major  unfolded  the  note  slowly,  held  it 
between  his  thumb  and  finger,  and  carefully  adjusted 
his  eyeglasses.  He  paused  some  moments  over  the 
signature.  "  Dorothy  Somers — pretty  name,"  said 
he.  "  The  note  is  a  masterpiece  of  concise  English. 
Did  you  know  her  as  well  as  this  before  she  became 
engaged  to  young  Gansevoort?  " 

"As  well  as  what?  She  wrote  fifty  such  notes, 
I  suppose — 

"  Then  why  does  it  require  a  personal  answer?  " 

Pinckney  colored.     "Well,  no,  I  didn't." 

"  Hm,"  said  the  Major,  and  looked  out  to  sea 
where  an  ocean  tug  was  towing  a  train  of  coal 
barges.  "  Why  can't  they  hitch  on  to  one  man 
without  towing  another  in  their  wake?  It  doesn't 
appear,"  he  concluded,  handing  the  letter  back  to 
Pinckney,  "  whether  she  wants  your  congratulations 
or  your  condolences." 

19 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Condolences,  very  likely,"  said  Pinckney  with 
a  laugh. 

The  Major's  face  darkened.  "  You  must  re 
member,  there's  but  one  way  to  console  a  woman  for 
her  emotional  misfortunes —  You  have  decided  to 
go  to-night?  " 

"  I've  got  to  go  to  New  York  to-night,  any 
how " 

"  And  to  Philadelphia  to-morrow." 

"  I'll  think  it  over." 

"  My  goodness,  don't  do  anything  of  the  sort," 
cried  the  Major  in  alarm.  "  Don't  think  anything 
at  all  about  it.  And  don't  go  to  Philadelphia.  Go 
to  Plunder's  and  send  her  twenty  dollars'  worth  of 
flowers,  with  a  pretty  letter.  Regard  no  expense 
at  critical  moments.  And  in  a  letter  you  can  say 
what  you  like."  . 

The  Major  waited,  and  both  were  silent,  look 
ing  over  a  radiant,  almost  luminous  sea:  not  a 
shadow  but  of  bright  color  lay  in  the  day,  and  the 
whitecaps  dazzled  where  the  ultramarine  broke. 
Over  such  a  sea  sailed  Tristan,  bound  from  Ireland, 
or  Helen,  bound  for  Troy.  The  Major  seemed  to 
hope  that  his  young  friend  would  reply,  but  Pinck 
ney  was  silent. 

"  In  a  letter  you  may  say  what  you  like,"  the 
Major  repeated,  and  then,  "  She  won't  show  it  to 

20 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

her  husband,"  he  added.     The  addition  was  a  mis 
take.     Pinckney  started  up. 

"  Take  another  cigar,"  said  the  Major.  "  To 
try  Man,  the  Lord  created  Woman — but  then,  re 
lenting,  gave  him  tobacco  and  rum  that  he  might 
bear  her  ways."  But  the  young  man  shook  his  head 
and  ran  into  the  house. 


AT  dinner  the  Major  ascribed  Pinckney's  de 
parture  to  a  sudden  political  engagement  in 
New  York.  "  This  nomination  of  Elaine  means 
much  to  a  young  man  with  a  fresh  eye.  He  has 
proclaimed  himself  a  Democrat  and  gone  on  to  work 
for  Mr  Bayard.  It  makes  little  difference  in  the 
end.  Every  party  in  power  develops  its  own  rump." 
Thus  pleasantly  did  old  Brandon  divert  the  minds 
of  his  hearers  and  screen  his  young  hero  from  the 
ridicule  which  in  America  attaches  to  the  man  whose 
actions  are  ever  swayed  by  his  emotions. 

But  the  cries  of  the  longshoremen  on  a  New 
York  pier  woke  Pinckney  the  following  morning. 
He  drove  to  his — so  temporary — bachelor  rooms  for 
breakfast  and  a  change  of  raiment,  called  at  a  florist's, 
and  took  the  noon  train  for  Philadelphia. 

That  city  was  wrapped  in  slumberous  heat.  Our 
21 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

hero  walked,  desirous  of  arriving  quietly.  A  cab 
rolls  to  the  door,  creates  a  certain  excitement!  The 
neighbors  look  out,  the  servant  is  impressed;  you 
leave  a  card,  and  that  is  definitive.  But  arriving 
quietly  on  foot,  if  the  lady  be  out,  it  is  easy  to  say 
you  will  come  again  in  an  hour  or  so.  Perhaps, 
then,  the  lady  will  be  in.  Or,  if  she  be  not  (and  the 
butler  knows  his  business),  you  may  as  well  stay 
away  for  good;  in  either  case,  your  mind  is  relieved. 
And  Pinckney  was  determined  to  relieve  his 
mind.  He  had  no  idea  of  not  seeing  Miss  Somers. 
He  knew  she  was  at  home  in  her  own  house — 
probably  preparing  the  wedding  trousseau.  If 
there  were  to  be  a  sacrifice  it  should  at  least 
be  a  voluntary  one,  made  of  her  own  free  will. 
(Heaven  knows  what  picture  he  had  in  his  mind  of 
a  fair  girl  weeping  in  an  upper  chamber  while  the 
piles  of  cartons,  of  laces  and  chiffons,  accumulated 
at  the  front  door.)  However,  it  was  an  unconscious 
picture ;  Pinckney  thought  he  was  looking  at  the 
quaint  little  red-brick  houses,  wooden-shuttered, 
marble-rimmed,  with  the  toy  white  marble  stoops ; 
these  houses  were  all  hermetically  sealed ;  the  tinkle 
of  the  horse-car  on  its  single  track  sounded  lonely 
on  the  narrow  street.  He  felt  glad  that  all  the 
world  was  away.  Though,  on  the  surface,  it  was 
to  be  a  call  of  congratulation,  Pinckney  was  subtly 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

not  completely  unconscious  that  it  conveyed,  alter 
natively,  the  invitation  to  lead  the  higher  life.  Con 
sciously,  he  was  quite  sure — almost  as  sure  as  he  had 
been  with  the  Major — that  it  proffered  no  such 
romantic  alternative.  But  not  to  come  would  have 
been  delinquent,  if  there  were  any — if  on  the 
chance — Pinckney  took  his  thoughts  by  the  neck  and 
shoulders  and  placed  them  back  on  the  track.  To 
send  merely  flowers  had  been  a  cold  acceptance  of 
a  situation  which,  after  all,  given  such  acquiescence, 
might  some  time,  in  some  future  spiritual  state,  be 
in  part  his  fault. 

The  sound  of  the  doorbell  startled  him.  As  it 
reverberated  through  an  empty  house,  it  seemed  to 
advertise  his  coming  throughout  all  the  street.  The 
house  was  more  pretentious  than  its  neighbors  and 
presented  edgewise  a  higher,  narrow  front  of  brown 
stone;  behind  the  twenty-foot  fafade  it  was  tunnel- 
shaped  and  ran  back  indefinitely.  This  Pinckney 
well  knew,  and  after  a  proper  delay  he  heard  the 
butler's  steps  echoing  along  the  wooden-paved  hall. 
"  Not  at  home."  Of  course  not.  "  Give  her  this 
card — perhaps  I  can  call  again  in  an  hour."  To 
send  up  his  card,  then,  was  practically  to  insist ;  he 
did  not  wish  to  force  his  visit ;  the  delay  gave  her 
at  least  the  option.  So  his  thoughts  repeated  them 
selves  ;  and  he  went  and  sat,  like  any  other  loafer, 

23 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  the  little  park  near  by.  This  was  empty,  even 
of  nursemaids  and  children ;  in  their  stead  were 
strange  visitants,  barbarians,  to  whose  incursions  it 
lay  open  in  the  summer  months.  He  sat  down  and 
waited. 

The  hour  passed  by  slowly.  In  front  of  him 
was  a  club,  with  awnings  at  the  open  windows.  It 
seemed  empty ;  but  Pinckney  had  no  desire  to  be  seen 
by  any  possible  acquaintance,  and  he  changed  his 
seat.  The  hour  lagged  interminably ;  he  counted  the 
people  in  the  square;  then  he  counted  the  negroes 
among  them.  He  tried  to  collect  his  thoughts ;  he 
had  none.  He  only  felt  that  he  should  keep  this 
episode  in  his  life  unknown,  and  as  a  gentleman 
passed  by  with  clothes  of  a  familiar  cut,  he  decided 
that  this  place  was  too  public.  Four  blocks  south, 
one  east,  and  then  returning,  should  make  a  mile ; 
in  that  heat  it  might  dispose  of  twenty  minutes. 
But  when  this  evolution  was  performed  the  chimes 
struck  only  the  half-hour.  Yet  he  felt  a  sort  of 
duty  in  keeping  the  date  exact ;  his  half  of  the  tryst 
should  be  performed  punctiliously.  He  was  build 
ing  a  clear  conscience  for  his  after  life. 

When  at  last  he  stood  before  the  door  the  house 
seemed  as  lonely  as  he  had  left  it.  The  thought  then 
first  crossed  his  mind  that  a  denial  would  hardly 
be  noncommittal.  Would  it  not  perhaps  imply  a 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

reason  that  they  should  not  meet?  Again  he  heard 
the  butler's  ringing  step — what  a  singular  messen 
ger  of  fate !  "  Miss  Somers  will  receive  you,  sir," 
he  said ;  Pinckney  fancied,  with  a  shade  more  inten 
tion  than  an  ordinary  call  required.  He  hated  to 
feel  himself  blush  before  the  butler;  and  he  entered 
the  dark  drawing-room  too  conscious  that  his  emo 
tions  lay  but  throat-deep. 

But  Pinckney,  at  his  first  glance,  blushed  again 
for  his  fatuity.  Dorothy  (he  had  called  her  Doro 
thy)  might  already  have  been  Mrs  Petrus  Ganse- 
voort  for  the  aplomb  with  which  she  received  him. 
And  suddenly  he  felt  himself  at  a  loss  to  justify 
his  call. 

"  I — I  only  landed  from  Europe  last  week,"  he 
began.  (Banal — and  she  knew  it  already.)  "I — I 
have  come  to  congratulate  you  upon  your  engage 
ment." 

"  Yes — I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you  for  the 
flowers  you  sent.  We  are  to  be  married  next  month. 
Mr  Gansevoort  desires  it,  and  mama — does  not  be 
lieve  in  long  engagements." 

She  indicated,  with  a  turn  of  her  hand,  the  flow 
ers  on  a  table  beside  her.  He  saw  then  that  there 
were  many  others.  His  modesty  now  ran  to  the 
other  extreme  and  pictured  him  but  one  of  an  indis- 
tinguished  multitude.  Why  should  he  call  more 
3  25 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

than  the   rest?     Perhaps   they  had  called,   and  she 
was  used  to  it. 

"  Is  your  mother  well  ?  "  He  felt  himself  a  boy 
again,  for  saying  it. 

"  Oh,  mama  is  quite  well."  A  slight  note  of 
impatience  arrested  his  attention,  and  for  the  first 
time  he  looked  at  her.  And  then,  perhaps,  the  man 
in  him  was  conscious  of  a  thrill.  For  no  man  can 
so  look  on  a  woman  without  it.  She  had  but  the 
usual  ivory  pallor  of  her  unusual  beauty.  True, 
there  were  dark  rings  under  the  strange  eyes — there 
often  were,  when  she  looked  her  best — those  strange 
eyes  that  seemed  to  drink  in  all  the  light  and  give 
out  none.  Yet,  for  the  first  time,  it  struck  him 
how  young  she  was ;  there  was  a  something  shrink 
ing  about  the  girlish  frame  she  carried  so  well;  as 
he  looked  she  met  his  eyes  for  half  an  instant,  then 
sank  upon  a  sofa. 

"  I'm  so  sorry  you  cannot  meet — Mr  Ganse- 
voort.  His  business  called  him  West  for  a  few 
days." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Pinckney  grimly.  There 
was  something  about  this  perfect  acceptance  of  the 
situation  to  make  him  a  trifle  angry.  He  changed 
his  cane  from  his  right  hand  to  his  left.  After  all, 
he  was  ready  to  go. 

"  But  please  sit  down,"  said  Miss  Somers. 
26 


PHILADELPHIA 


"  He  bent  over  her,  waiting." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

After  all — he  could  hardly  go  yet.  She  seemed 
taller  sitting;  her  fine  white  gown  fell  in  maturer 
folds,  above  which  the  deep  bronze  of  her  hair  was 
lost  in  the  shadows  of  the  room.  Then  he  looked  at 
her,  steadily.  After  all,  he  was  not  in  love  with  her 
— definitely.  Yet  he  wondered  if  she  remembered. 
It  was  not  for  him  to  remind  her. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  summer  ?  " 

"  Very,"  said  Pinckney  dryly.  "  I  think  I  must 
be  going — my  train  leaves  at  five.  I  only  ran  down 
to —  He  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  surprised  at 
the  slightest  possible  click  in  his  throat.  He  hoped 
at  least  she  had  not  heard  it — absurd  as  it  was.  He 
rose  hurriedly.  But  she  did  not  get  up.  He  ex 
tended  his  hand.  She  did  not  grasp  it.  Slowly 
her  shoulders  sank  to  the  arm  of  the  ottoman ;  she 
was  breathing  rapidly.  She  leaned  her  head  upon 
her  hand. 

His  face  burned.  Her  other  arm  lay  nerveless 
on  her  lap.  With  an  effort  he  did  not  grasp  it. 
"Good-by,"  said  he. 

Then  he  saw  that  the  slender  frame  was  shaken 
with  sobs.  "  Miss  Somers — Dorothy  !  " 

There  was  no  reply,  but  she  was  clearly  crying. 
Her  white  wrist  was  burning  hot.  Slowly,  slowly 
he  bent  over  her,  waiting ;  lower,  lower.  She  turned 
her  face.  Their  lips  met. 

27 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


VI 


WHAT  was  the  last  thing  she  said  to  you  ?  " 
It  was  the  Major  who  spoke,  after  a  long 
pause.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  by  this 
time,  at  the  Major's  club  in  New  York,  where  Pinck- 
ney  had  met  him  just  before  midnight.  The  meet 
ing  was  not  by  appointment,  but  Pinckney  had  found 
him  there,  the  Major  having  returned  from  Beverly 
by  the  day  train.  The  Major  had  a  habit  of  turn 
ing  up  where  he  was  wanted.  He  said  the  Beverly 
house  was  stupid  after  his  young  friend's  departure. 
A  champagne  glass  stood  at  his  elbow,  empty;  an 
other  stood  at  Pinckney's,  full. 

"  The  last  thing  she  said  to  me  was  '  Go.' ' 

"  Which  is  as  much  as  to  say  *  Come.' ' 

"  I  shall  go  back  to-day,"  said  the  young  man. 
"  Do  you  think  she  will  break  the  engagement  for 
mally?" 

"  It  strikes  me  you  have  broken  it  yourself. 
You  should  save  her  further  trouble — 

"  By  seeing  him  ?  " 

"  By  managing  her." 

"  Her  mother  will  never  consent ; 

"  We  won't  consult  the  old  lady.  I'll  give  her 
away  myself."  The  Major's  face  was  radiant. 

28 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I'll  see  you  through."  Pinckney's  eyes  flashed, 
but  about  his  lips  lay  also  a  curve  of  determination. 

"  I  must  see  her  first." 

"  Certainly.  But  I'll  see  everybody  else.  Par 
son,  clerk,  reporters — and  Gansevoort,  •  too,  if  he 
wants  it.  I'll  give  them  all  satisfaction."  The 
Major  looked  ten  years  younger  as  he  spoke. 

"  It  must  be  in  a  church 

"  Certainly.     And  I'll  have  my  sister  there — 

Pinckney  grasped  his  hand.  "  I  can't  say  it, 
but  you  know  what  I  feel." 

"  Don't  try  to  say  it.  Of  course  I  do !  Why, 
it's  like  being  married  myself!  The  one  experience 
I've  never  had — everything  comes  to  him  who  waits. 
I  know  just  how  you  feel.  I'm  dead  in  love  myself. 
Don't  try  to  say  it  to  me — tell  her,  though."  And 
the  Major  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine. 

Pinckney  thought  to  let  pass  his  pretended 
misunderstanding  of  his  gratitude — obviously  pre 
tended,  for  the  Major's  eyes  were  moist.  He 
sprang  up. 

"  It's  three  o'clock.  I  must  take  the  train  at 
six  at  Jersey  City.  I'll  have  a  bath  first— I  must 
take  the  train,  though.  I  must  see  Miss  Somers 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning." 

"  Of  course  you  must.  I'll  go  with  you — tele 
graph  my  sister  to  come  on  later." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  We  must  be  married  to-morrow." 

"  Nonsense.  To-day,  man,  to-day.  You  should 
remember  that  you  have  placed  Miss  Somers  in  an 
impossible  situation.  Not  a  moment  should  be  lost 
in  regularizing  it.  As  for  Mr  Gansevoort — he  may 
come  back  sooner  than  he  said — almost  at  any  mo 
ment.  Then  think  of  the  poor  girl's  position — get 
ting  notes  or  telegrams  from  him  every  two  hours, 
I  suppose — knowing  all  the  time  what  she  means 
to  do." 

But  Pinckney  required  no  argument.  "  Of 
course,  if  it  can  be  done." 

"  Certainly,  it  can  be  done — if  you  don't  mind 
being  married  in  the  afternoon.  I'll  be  your  best 
man,  and  my  sister  her  bridesmaid — her  sister  is 
too  young  to  be  told — otherwise  I'd  tell  her.  You 
can  usually  trust  a  girl  to  take  the  proper  view. 
Brothers  are  unsafe.  Fortunately  she  hasn't  any. 
And  I'll  telegraph  a  High-Church  clergyman  I  know 
— Father  Conynghame,  a  real  good  fellow  who  be 
lieves  that  marriage  is  a  sacrament  and  the  civil 
law  an  impertinence — and  I'll  get  a  judge — and  a 
bishop — 

Pinckney  looked  up  interrogatively. 

"  Of  course  you  must  have  a  bishop.  My  dear 
fellow,  you  must  pardon  me,  but  in  view  of  the — 
somewhat  sudden  engagement  between  you  and  the 

30 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lady  and  the — improbability — of  there  being  many 
invited  guests,  it  is  advisable  that  the  wedding  should 
be  celebrated  with  all  possible  ceremony." 

"  But  without  the  mother's  consent?  " 

"  I'll  give  the  bishop  a  hint  that  the  mother  can't 
consent.  Trust  me  for  that — and  a  good  High 
Churchman  to  take  the  catholic  view.  It's  divorcing 
they  jib  at,  not  marrying." 

"When  will  you  tell  her?" 

"Well,"  said  the  Major,  "I'll  do  that  after 
dinner."  And  this  time  he  drank  his  wine. 

The  events  of  that  day  passed  over  our  hero  like 
a  dream.  His  emotions  were  too  much  roused  to 
leave  to  his  mind  much  contemplation  of  the  actual 
facts.  But  the  facts  succeeded  each  other  with  a 
decision  and  rapidity  that  would  else  have  taken  his 
breath  away.  And  through  them  all  he  was  con 
scious  of  the  ever-present  activity  of  his  best  man. 
It  was  under  his  advice  that  he  telegraphed  Miss 
Somers  that  he  was  returning  to  Philadelphia  and 
would  call  in  the  course  of  that  morning,  also  giv 
ing  his  address  at  a  certain  hotel.  "  She  may  pre 
fer  the  meeting  elsewhere  than  at  home ;  we  must 
disregard  trifling  conventions."  Under  his  advice 
steps  were  taken  to  borrow  his  aunt's  house  in  Lenox. 
"  A  trip  to  Europe  would  be  a  common  perform 
ance;  we  must  avoid  all  that  looks  sudden  or  unpre- 

31 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

meditated,  as  well  as  any  appearance  of  concealment. 
At  Lenox  you  may  have  solitude  and  yet  be  in 
Society."  The  Major  spoke  sententiously,  as  be 
came  one  who  spake  whereof  he  knew.  All  our  hero 
did  was  to  obtain  a  stay  of  all  these  proceedings 
until  he  had  seen  Miss  Somers — a  decision  the  pro 
priety  of  which  the  Major  did  not  question,  though 
he  considered  it  unnecessary.  His  confidence  in  her 
love  for  his  young  friend  would  have  been  touching 
to  a  bystander;  there  came  a  time  when  it  touched 
Pinckney  himself.  "  She  will  never  marry  him 
now,"  he  said.  "  If  she  does,  you  don't  want  to 
marry  her." 

But  the  Major  himself  was  to  be  given  a  lesson 
in  good  breeding  on  this  occasion.  The  hours  passed 
long  upon  the  railway  and  yet  Pinckney  could  have 
wished  they  had  been  longer.  So  to  every  young 
man,  at  the  moment  of  plighting  his  troth  to  a  young 
lady,  I  suppose — certainly  to  every  one  on  the  verge 
of  marriage — there  comes  a  moment,  not  of  revul 
sion,  but  of  acute  perception.  Besides  the  intoxi 
cation  of  having  another  life  with  yours,  the  raptur 
ous  modesty  of  undeserved  consecration  to  intimacy 
with  a  more  sacred  being,  the  glamour  that  the  mys 
tery  of  Sex  throws  over  purity — and  Pinckney  was 
both  pure  and  modest — there  must  flash  with  all  the 
aggregate  definiteness  of  a  camera  obscura  upon  the 

32 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

mind  the  visions  of  all  things  present  and  to  come,  in 
the  path  chosen  or  beside  it.  He  had  no  concern  about 
his  own  happiness :  the  witchery  of  Sex  is  always 
at  his  age  strong  enough  to  reassure  upon  that 
point.  But  he  felt,  as  her  mother  would  say,  "  all 
that  she  was  giving  up."  It  was  true,  she  had 
chosen  for  the  ideal  life,  and  that  this  choice  must 
always  be  well.  But  was  he  strong  enough  to  give 
it  to  her?  The  fact,  so  obvious  to  the  Major,  that 
she  was  simply  in  love  with  him,  lay  well  in  the  back 
ground.  And  on  coming  to  the  hotel  the  first  thing 
he  asked  for  and  found  was  a  note  from  Miss  Som- 
ers.  It  had  been  brought  by  a  messenger  in  the 
ordinary  way,  and  was  as  follows : 

"  I  have  received  your  telegram,  and  shall  be  at  home 
at  eleven  this  morning. 

"  DOROTHY." 

The  Major  walked  with  him  to  the  house  and 
waited  outside  with  a  sheaf  of  his  telegrams  in  leash. 


VII 


HOW  can  biography  be  an  exact  science?    Who 
knows  enough  of  anybody  else,  who  is  not 
a  Frenchman,  or  a  Russian  girl,  to  write  the  life  of 
him?     Is  a  man's  life  (a  woman  is  more  cognizant) 

33 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

known  even  to  himself?  Shall  not  we,  all  but  the 
Puritans,  go  to  the  last  trump  as  uncertain  of  the 
Judgment  as  of  a  woman's  favor?  Yet  a  man  knows 
the  events,  the  acts  and  sayings  of  his  career,  though 
rarely  the  motives  which  influenced  them,  his  own 
or  those  of  others ;  his  own  acts  which  result  come 
to  him  frequently  enough  with  surprise.  He  sees 
himself  do  it  as  he  sits  on  his  horse  and  sees  it  take 
a  fence. 

The  imaginary  biographer  is  supposed  to  know 
it  all ;  and  yet  the  conventions  of  English  fiction 
are  against  his  telling  it.  Under  this  rule  the 
epochal  moments  of  a  man's  life  are  nearly  all  un- 
tellable.  The  touch  of  the  hot  face,  the  kiss  given 
in  a  passion  of  tears,  determined  their  lives ;  yet 
my  gentlest  reader  may  not  yet  have  forgiven  to 
me  her  knowledge  of  it, — though  Major  Brandon  had 
grasped  the  fact  without  an  intimation. 

Pinckney's  memory  always  was  that  he  went  into 
the  house  that  morning  with  a  matured  mind,  the 
Major's  plans  all  at  his  finger  ends,  the  course  of 
action  (if  any  was  to  be  taken)  coldly  blocked  out. 
First,  it  was  for  her  to  decide;  despite  all  his  love, 
he  would  not  urge.  If  she  wished,  the  kiss  should 
be  as  if  it  never  had  happened.  But  Miss  Somers 
came  to  the  door  herself;  and  before  they  had  en 
tered  the  dark  drawing-room  her  figure  was  clasped 

34 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

closely  and  her  lips  drawn  up  to  his.  So  much  must 
be  told  the  reader;  for  the  reader  must  know  all. 
What  the  Major  learned  was  only  this:  That  she  had 
simply  told  her  mother  that  she  wished  to  be  in  alone 
to  see  him,  Pinckney,  and  then  had  sent  the  butler  on 
an  errand  and  dispensed  with  the  maid's  attendance. 
It  appeared  that  she  had  even  mentioned,  to  her 
mother,  his  name.  Daisy  was  at  school.  Except 
for  just  the  things  that  Austin  did  not  mention 
(and  which  perhaps  the  Major's  imagination  sup 
plied),  her  conduct  was  that  of  the  ideal  grande 
dcnne,  which  the  Major  roundly  declared  her  to  be. 
She  chose  to  see  him  in  her  own  house.  She  con 
sented  to  the  marriage  taking  place  that  very  after 
noon  ;  she  had  even  considered  the  question  of  inform 
ing  her  mother  of  her  plans  upon  her  mother's  return 
from  shopping.  (At  that  the  Major  gave  a  bound.) 
She  had  only  concluded  not  to  do  so  in  consideration 
of  her  mother's  peace  of  mind.  As  she,  Miss  Somers, 
had  quite  determined  to  carry  it  through,  it  might  be 
best  to  do  it  as  quietly  as  possible ;  and,  for  quiet,  Mrs 
Somers  could  not,  upon  such  short  notice,  be  counted 
on.  She  would  wish  at  least  for  delay,  she  might 
want  to  telegraph  to  Mr  Gansevoort ;  in  short,  Miss 
Somers  was  quite  convinced  that  her  mother's  peace 
of  mind  would  be  best  preserved  by  hearing  of  it 
first  as  a  fact  accomplished  and  to  which  she  was 

35 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

not  accomplice.  She  must  then  be  told,  of  course, 
at  once. 

"  I'll  tell  her  myself— I'll  do  it  to-night,"  said 
the  Major  enthusiastically. 

The  Major  had  fought  a  duel  in  his  day. 

Then,  went  on  Pinckney,  she  had  called  down 
the  stairs  Miss  Winifred  Radnor  and  presented  him 
to  her  (whom,  indeed,  he  had  slightly  known  before) 
somewhat  in  these  words  (Miss  Radnor  had  been 
there  looking  at  the  wedding  presents)  :  "  Winnie, 
I  am  going  to  be  married  to  Mr  Pinckney  this  after 
noon,  and  I  want  you  to  be  my  bridesmaid." 

("  Splendid!  "  ejaculated  the  Major.) 

Miss  Radnor  had  shown  considerable  excitement 
not  unrningled  with  opposition ;  but  as  she  had  been 
Dorothy's  most  intimate  friend,  nearer  than  her 
mother  to  the  secrets  of  her  heart,  it  had  been  sur 
mounted.  It  was  all  arranged,  and  they  were  to 
call  with  a  carriage  for  the  young  ladies  at  six 
o'clock. 

"  At  Miss  Somers'?  "  said  the  Major. 

"  At  Miss  Radnor's." 

The  Major  was  off  with  his  bundle  of  telegrams. 


36 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


VIII 

THEN  Austin  went  back  to  the  hotel  to  write 
his  letters.  They  were  to  be  given  to  the 
Major,  after  the  ceremony,  to  be  posted  by  him,  and 
were  addressed,  first,  to  his  three  married  sisters  in 
Germany,  the  Baroness  von  Schroder  of  Wurtem- 
berg,  Grafin  Marie  von  Stolzfeld,  at  Hanover,  and 
Madame  von  Pauli,  the  wife  of  an  Austrian  general. 
He  wrote,  of  course,  to  his  old  Aunt  Emily  who  had 
the  Lenox  house.  ("I  know  her  very  well,"  the 
Major  said.  It  was  a  thing  he  said  of  all  nice  old 
women,  were  it  London  or  New  York.)  And  he  also 
wrote  to  Mrs  Arthur  Shirley. 

At  two  the  Major  returned  and  insisted  on  their 
dining:  green  turtle  and  champagne  he  ordered,  of 
which  latter  he  seemed  in  little  need.  The  Major 
looked  twenty  years  younger.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
heart  hunger  of  a  lifetime  were  being  filled.  "  It's 
all  right,"  he  said ;  "  I've  seen  everybody — Father 
Conynghame  attends  to  the  church,  the  judge'll  have 
the  papers  ready ;  I've  ordered  the  flowers,  got  the 
bishop  and  the  railway  seats ;  my  sister'll  meet  us  in 
Camden  at  the  station,  and  I've  invited  both  the  As 
sociated  Press  correspondents  and  two  or  three  fel 
lows  from  the  club  to  dinner.  I've  just  been  to  see 

37 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Miss  Radnor,  and  I've  promised  to  bring  her  home 
by  seven.  She  says  it's  splendid.  Then  I'll  go  and 
see  Mrs  Somers  and  be  ready  to  receive  my  guests 
at  the  club  at  eight.  In  fact  I've  asked  several  fel 
lows  at  the  club  to  meet  us,  and  two,  that  I  could 
trust,  to  be  ushers.  It's  all  right,"  he  concluded,  to 
Austin's  start  of  surprise ;  "  they  only  know  your 
name  as  yet ;  it's  as  sacred  as  a  duel.  Now  you  go 
out  and  pass  the  time  in  getting  a  ring." 

Pinckney  afterward  believed  he  would  have  for 
gotten  that.  "  Go  to  Caldwell's  and  mention  my 
name."  It  was  lucky  Major  Brandon  mentioned  this 
also.  For  our  hero,  thinking  that  economy  would 
best  begin  with  their  home,  purchased  not  only  a 
wedding  ring  but  a  string  of  pearls.  The  stones 
were  not  so  large  as  in  the  triple  rope  that  Ganse- 
voort  had  sent  her — now  to  be  returned — but  still 
it  was  a  string  of  pearls,  and  as  such  represented 
about  half  a  year's  income.  For  it  he  gave  his 
check — and  the  Major's  reference — and  put  the  two 
caskets  in  his  pocket.  It  was,  of  course,  unsafe  to 
send  anything  to  the  house.  He  had  a  horror  of 
taking  anything  from  the  house.  By  an  old  rule 
of  law  a  man  who  wed  his  wife  "  in  her  shift  "  took 
her  free  of  all  her  previous  debts.  It  was  only  Doro 
thy  he  wanted;  their  evasion  (the  Major  vigorously 
denied  that  it  was  an  elopement),  their  sudden  mar- 

38 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

riage  was  justifiable  only  on  the  necessary  ground 
of  pure  emotion.  All  dross  of  earth  his  bride  should 
leave  behind  her;  he  took  just  her — barely  equipped 
with  her  girlish  belongings,  free  of  past  emotional 
obligations.  Nothing  that  appertained  to  her  much- 
advertised  engagement,  not  even  the  trousseau  given 
by  her  mother,  was  to  come. 

The  hour  approached;  it  now  was.  Pinckney 
was  feverishly  anxious;  the  Major  was  in  no  hurry, 
calm  with  Napoleonic  consciousness  of  battle  planned 
— how  completely  planned,  it  did  not  dawn  upon  its 
hero  for  some  days  afterward.  Their  carriage,  a 
modest  hackney,  stopped  at  the  street  corner;  the 
Major  issued,  to  return  forthwith  with  the  two 
young  ladies.  No  baggage  was  loaded  except  a 
pasteboard  box  which  the  Major  opened  on  the 
ferryboat;  it  contained  two  bouquets  of  roses  and 
four  buttonhole  gardenias,  each  of  which  was  affixed 
by  a  pearl  scarf  pin.  At  one  of  the  bouquets  was 
pinned  a  locket  of  small  pearls ;  at  the  other  (the 
bride's)  a  cluster  of  five  pearls  to  make  the  centre 
of  Austin's  necklace.  Had  Pinckney  known  it,  the 
centre  stone  was  finer  than  any  of  the  Gansevoort 
string.  It  is  possible  that  the  Major  for  the  mo 
ment  was  the  happiest  person  of  the  four.  Gener 
ally  speaking,  at  a  wedding,  the  groom  drives  to  the 
church  with  the  best  man,  the  bride  with  him  who 

39 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

is  to  give  her  away ;  afterwards  the  bride  and  groom 
drive  away  together.  The  Major  (who  has,  however, 
tried  but  two  of  these  three  places)  has  assured 
me  that  the  second  is  the  best.  But  he  had  feared 
the  processional  effect  of  two  carriages  in  Camden, 
and  they  were  all  together.  The  bride  was  undemon- 
stratively,  Austin  joyfully,  Miss  Radnor  excitedly, 
silent.  Only  the  Major  talked. 

It  was  dusk  when  they  landed  and  drove  to  Judge 
Gallison's  office.  Here  the  two  principals  had  to 
comply  with  the  unexacting  formalities  of  Jersey 
law.  Austin  always  remembered  the  large  office  or 
Judge's  chambers,  considerately  dark,  with  only  the 
very  oldest  and  red-tapest  of  clerks;  the  jovial  judi 
cial  magnate,  himself  in  wedding  garb,  who  began 
by  congratulating  them  on  what  they  were  about 
to  do,  who  afterward,  in  a  separate  carriage  (into 
which  he  was  careful  to  invite  the  two  young  ladies), 
accompanied  them  to  the  church  ceremony.  "  I  am 
to  give  her  away,  you  know — knew  her  father  all 
his  life  " — Judge  Gallison  had  never  before  heard 
of  the  gentleman  alluded  to — leaving  the  Major,  a 
little  crestfallen,  to  go  alone  with  the  bridegroom. 

However,  the  drive  was  none  too  short  for  the 
Major  to  give  to  Austin  his  directions.  They  were 
to  go,  of  all  places,  to  Atlantic  City  that  night 
("  If  you  can't  have  real  solitude,  the  next  best 

40 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

thing  is  a  vulgar  crowd — they'd  look  at  you  at  New 
port,  but  they  see  too  many  weddings  at  Atlantic 
City"),  whither  the  luggage  had  already  been  ex 
pressed.  ("  To-morrow's  newspapers  will  be  down 
with  the  right  story,  but  before  they  find  you,  you'll 
be  off  to  Lenox.")  They  would  find  their  rooms  all 
ready  at  the  best  large  hotel,  under  the  names  of 
Mr  and  Mrs  Pinckney.  ("  Would  be  a  great  error 
to  show  any  attempt  at  concealment — fortunately, 
your  name  is  quite  unknown  in  Philadelphia.")  On 
the  morrow,  a  competent  lady's  maid  would  arrive. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  church.  The 
bride's  party  had  already  entered;  but  in  the  vesti 
bule  Austin  was  introduced  to  a  dear  young  Quaker 
lady  of  sixty  as  the  Major's  sister;  then  to  two 
elegant  young  gentlemen  already  vested  in  the 
usher's  pin.  "  Mr  Riddle,  Austin,  of  Philadelphia ; 
Mr  Schermerhorn  of  New  York,  I  think  you  know." 
Austin  did  know  him  as  a  personage  whose  presence 
lent  social  sanction  to  almost  anything  and — now  he 
remembered  it — one  who  had  figured  rather  promi 
nently  in  a  club  dispute  with  Petrus  Gansevoort. 
(Had  he  known  it,  Dallas  Riddle  also,  a  beau  of  ris 
ing  forty,  had  offered  himself  to  Miss  Somers  at 
a  last  winter's  ball.) 

"  The  Bishop  of  Appalachia — "  Austin  bowed 
deeply  to  a  benevolent,  well-nurtured  High  Church- 
4  41 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

man — the  metropolitan  of  Philadelphia  was,  at  that 
period,  Low.  "  Father  Conynghame "  —  Austin 
grasped  the  hand  of  an  emaciated  enthusiast,  with 
a  gaunt  face  and  a  burning  eye.  The  peal  of  an 
organ  then  startled  him,  and  his  best  man  hurried 
him  to  the  chancel  door. 

The  Major  hurried  him  on  with  no  time  for  re 
flection.  One  never  does  reflect  on  these  momentous 
occasions.  With  the  two  ushers  before  them,  the 
Maj  or  led  him  out  amid  the  first  triplets  of  Mendels 
sohn  and  a  mighty  rustling  caused  by  the  rising 
congregation. 

To  our  hero's  amazement,  the  church  was  full  of 
people.  It  was  done  as  if  prearranged.  The  Major 
afterward  admitted  (to  the  Judge)  that  "  the 
house  "  was  "  paper."  And  then,  when  all  was  over, 
when  the  carriages  had  all  left,  the  Major  drove 
back  alone  to  meet  Mrs  Somers. 


IX 


A  CLEVER  Yankee  girl  once  averted  compas 
sion   for  marrying  and  going  to  live  in   a 
remote  Western  town  by   remarking  that   the  first 
year  she  would  be  too  much  in  love  to  care  where 
they  were,  and  in  a  second  year  she  should  be  used 

42 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to  anywhere.  Austin  never  again  went  to  Atlantic 
City.  The  long  board  walk,  lined  with  cheap  raree- 
shows,  the  flat  and  noisy  ocean,  passed  like  an  un 
heeded  panorama  upon  his  world  of  will.  Schopen 
hauer,  having  none,  gives  no  marvelous  analysis  to 
the  subjective  state  of  humor;  but  though  they  had 
two  long  board  walks  together,  emotion  overshad 
owed  even  Austin's  humorous  apperception ;  and  his 
bride  had  none. 

The  novelist  who  would  write  of  the  day  after 
the  marriage  must  shed  ink  like  a  cuttle-fish:  so  a 
Browning  could  envelop  the  theme  in  inky  metre, 
a  Meredith  in  turgid  prose.  English  letters  scream 
at  life's  essentials.  The  Frenchman's  hero  is  self- 
conscious  even  in  his  caresses,  to  such  as  he  pas 
sion  is  never  pure;  to  an  American  it  is;  but  just 
for  that  your  Frenchman  makes  an  art  of  love.  In 
nocence  shrinks  at  non-essentials,  body  is  undemon- 
strable,  while  the  blushing  face  is  unveiled  to  your 
scrutiny.  The  Mohammedan  veils  the  face  only ;  to 
the  real  master  of  sensuousness,  personality,  not  per 
son,  is  the  ultimate.  Our  Puritan  inversion  reverses 
the  nature  of  things,  deifies  the  body  by  withholding 
simple  knowledge  of  it,  overemphasizes  it,  ignores 
the  soul.  The  bourgeois  customs  emphasize  the 
physical  surrender  which,  more  innocently,  had  been 
a  forgotten  episode.  The  Greeks  reverenced  the 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

human  form  and  were  not  troubled  by  it ;  the  higher 
lover's  progress  should  be  from  body  to  the  soul. 
It  is  a  vulgarity  that  accentuates  a  situation  that 
should  be  natural,  gradual,  holy  (for  the  normal  of 
the  world  is  holy,  else  are  we  apes,  indeed) — holy 
as  the  opening  of  flowers.  So  the  first  day  of  honey 
moon  may  be  one  of  stormy  doubt,  of  shock  and 
question.  This  tradition  hath  monkish  coarseness 
bequeathed  to  protestant  prudery.  Since  Daphnis 
and  Chloe  became  sinful  to  our  monkish  modes,  there 
is  no  chance  for  better,  save  for  the  satyr — a  thing 
the  sensualist  has  learned  to  profit  by ;  it  is  your 
rake  who  manages  susceptibilities,  reconciles  to 
Sex;  most  signally  if  any  be  after  all  of  tempera 
ment  to  be  won  this  way, — a  thought,  as  the  poet 
said,  to  show  one  shapes  of  night  at  loftiest  noon. 
Your  gentleman,  Parsifal-pure,  at  best  may  have 
his  chance  to  hold,  by  very  contrast,  the  young 
Faustine;  he  may  fail  with  Seraphita.  For  Parsi 
fal,  no  pity  knowing,  hath  killed  the  swan,  Parsifal 
the  pure ;  to  a  Tristan,  wedding  matters  little ;  and 
they — kissed  first.  It  was  this  kiss  shrived  them. 
Or  how  is  the  great  circle  better?  Burning  in  the 
calm  that  warns  of  storm,  a  painted  ship  upon  a 
painted  ocean ;  an  ancient  mariner's  chart  to  young 
lovers,  the  alternative  is  impossible.  When  Tristan 
sailed  Iseult  from  Ireland,  his  course  was  straight. 

44 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

No  fears  for  either  till  the  kiss  had  come ;  but  will 
it  last  a  lifetime?  Then  is  there  no  sin.  But  who 
can  tell?  theirs  lasted  well  till  death.  Dorothy  had 
had  our  hero's  kiss;  no  chaliced  potion  could  have 
been  more  potent,  no  Brangoena  certainer  to  turn 
the  world. 

But  now  that  day,  that  doubting  day,  had 
passed.  Happiness  now — the  Bird  with  oily  breast 
sleeps,  for  our  Tristan,  on  the  wave  of  Tintagel. 
Yes,  happiness  now.  The  halcyon  morn  is  early  to 
be  so  fine — no  mists  upon  the  mountain  tops,  the 
warm  sun  bright  at  the  heart.  The  cobwebs  at  one's 
feet  are  swept  away;  they  never  were;  no  thought 
for  the  morrow,  not  even  for  the  evening.  The 
stormy  unrest  was  short;  that  agony  of  joy,  trou 
bling  to  the  memory,  soon  forgotten  ;  the  shock  of  day 
light  soon  strengthens  the  eyes,  softens  the  light  to 
steady  calm.  A  day  of  doubt,  a  night  of  journey 
— and  it  is  the  dreamy  Berkshire  hills,  the  whole 
some  swelling  of  the  earth,  the  gold  witch-hazel's 
guerdon  of  the  coming  spring,  the  leafage  scarlet 
with  fruition,  the  brown  earth  plowed  for  future 
harvest,  and  God  is  with  the  World. 


45 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


THE  morning  lay  over  the  Lenox  valley.  A 
week  had  gone  by  since  their  wedding.  Aus 
tin  and  Dorothy  were  in  the  house  their  kindly 
aunt  had  left  for  them;  and  just  as  the  sun  rose 
above  the  eastern  woods  our  hero  came  out  upon 
the  lawn  and  ran,  like  a  boy,  down  the  steep-shaven 
slope.  But  the  face  was  a  man's:  the  Major,  had 
he  seen  it  then,  would  have  noticed  a  change.  With 
all  the  brightness  of  youth  his  lips  had  the  firmness, 
his  eyes  had  now  the  repose,  of  man's  estate.  No 
longer  questioning  of  the  world,  no  more  self-con 
scious  than  the  West  Wind,  he  ran  for  very  joy 
of  life,  chasing  the  squirrels,  scattering  the  red 
apples,  conscious  unconsciously  of  all  happiness  and 
loveliness,  hardly  more  so  than  the  bee  that  left  the 
tall  foxglove  at  his  feet  and  buzzed  into  the  brown 
sunlight,  golden  with  the  pollen.  The  secret  of  the 
world  was  his ;  he  was  wise  with  the  wisdom  that 
should  never  be  lost,  forgotten  by  the  middle  years, 
envied  by  the  elders.  But  a  moment  he  played 
about ;  then,  as  a  shutter  opened  in  the  house,  he 
made  for  it,  as  the  bee  for  its  hive.  For  his  wife, 
from  the  open  window,  called  to  him.  In  a  moment 
she  was  at  his  side. 

46 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

They  joined  hands  and  raced  down  the  hill.  In 
her  muslin  morning  gown,  clinging  to  her  young 
figure,  she  yet  ran  like  an  Atalanta.  Dorothy,  too, 
was  changed,  and  for  the  better;  a  warm  flush  was 
in  the  ivory-white  face,  the  cheek  was  fuller,  the 
eyes  two  very  wells  of  velvet  black.  Almost  a  typi 
cal  American  beauty,  there  was  something  Spanish 
in  the  type,  not  unusual  with  us.  The  morning  was 
warm  enough  for  them  to  sit  in  a  garden  seat  be 
neath  the  golden  beech  leaves.  "  Dorothy,"  said  he 
(his  arm  was  at  her  waist),  "  Dorothy  "  (he  said  it 
like  a  prayer),  "  I've  a  letter  from  Major  Brandon, 
dear  old  fellow !  " 

"A  letter?     Oh,  let  me  see  it " 

"  A  letter  and  a  package  of  newspapers." 
Dorothy  clapped  her  hands.  "  Oh,  what  do 
they  say?  I  have  been  so  afraid  what  they  might 
say  of  us — what  do  people  think  of  me?  "  She  had 
never  spoken  to  him  before  of  this  anxiety,  and  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  then  that  it  had  been  nice 
of  her.  They  knew  that  the  Major  had  fulfilled  his 
promise  and  seen  Mrs  Somers ;  for  from  that  lady 
they  had  had  a  letter.  But  with  newspapers  they 
had  not  yet  been  troubled. 

"  Let's  read  the  letter  first,"  said  Austin. 
It  was  very   short  and   satisfactory.      "  I  have 
seen  Mrs   Somers  again,"   the  Major  wrote,   "  and 

47 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

she  agrees  with  me  that  she  should  come  to  you  at 
once.  I  cannot  honestly  tell  you  that  she  is  yet  rec 
onciled  to  the  match ;  but  she  will  play  her  part,  at 
least  in  public ;  she  requires  a  little  schooling.  So 
you  may  expect  her  on  to-morrow's  train.  She 
seems  to  expect  that  you  are  living  in  a  tent,  or  a 
cave,  and  is  waiting  until  her  maid  returns.  It 
might  be  well  to  receive  her  with  some  display. 
Yours  always,"  etc. 

Austin  laughed.  "  I'll  send  Wallace  with  my 
aunt's  best  horses."  He  went  on,  reading :  "  '  P.S. 
— Mrs  Pinckney  had  better  meet  her  alone,  at  first, 
and  let  her  have  her  cry  out.'  Humph !  " 

But  Dorothy  only  laughed.  "  Let's  see  the 
papers."  There  was  quite  a  bundle  of  them,  New 
York  and  Philadelphia,  and  all  carefully  marked  by 
the  Major.  Their  comments  reflected  credit  at  once 
upon  his  imagination  and  his  tact.  After  all  the 
one  quality  depends  subtly  on  the  other.  The  Ma 
jor's  dinner  to  the  two  influential  correspondents 
had  evidently  done  its  work.  From  all  accounts  of 
the  wedding,  you  would  have  inferred  rather  the 
keeping  of  an  old  promise  than  the  breaking  of  a 
new.  "  Miss  Dorothy  Somers,  whose  engagement 
to  Mr  Gansevoort,  of  New  York,  had  been  recently 
reported,  was  married  to-day "  (the  more  lively 
journals  had  it,  "  with  much  eclat  ")  "  to  Charles 

48 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Austin  Pinckney,  a  young  lawyer  of  New  York.  It 
is  believed  to  have  been  quite  a  romance;  the  bride 
groom  made  the  young  lady's  acquaintance  some 
years  since  in  Germany.  A  tacit  engagement  was 
contracted  between  them  at  that  time,  and  the 
rumor  of  his  fiancee's  engagement  to  Mr  Ganse- 
voort  coming  to  him  at  a  time  when  domestic  duties 
required  his  presence  in  Germany  (Mr  Pinckney 's 
father  will  be  remembered  as  our  late  Consul  in 
Carlsruhe),  it  might  well  have  discouraged  our  hopes 
of  a  less  earnest  suitor.  Mr  Pinckney,  however, 
took  one  of  the  first  steamers  for  America,  where 
all  was  happily  explained."  It  will  be  seen  that  in 
this  explanation  Mr  Gansevoort's  situation  was, 
with  delicacy,  left  out  entirely.  Several  of  the 
papers  entitled  it,  "  Romance  in  High  Life  " ;  one 
even  went  so  far  as  to  caption  it,  "  True  to  Her 
First  Love."  A  New  York  society  journal  of  a 
literary  tendency  made  a  story  of  it,  "  Hearts 
against  Diamonds."  The  Gansevoort  tiara  was 
famous.  But  the  graver  journals  preferred  the 
form,  "  Miss  Dorothy  Somers,  whose  engagement  to 
Mr.  Petrus  Gansevoort  was  recently  canceled,  was 
married  yesterday,  from  her  home  in  Philadelphia, 
at  Trinity  Church,  Camden,  New  Jersey,  by  the 
Bishop  of  Appalachia,  assisted  by  the  Rev.  Father 
Conynghame,  in  the  presence  of  a  brilliant  com- 

49 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

pany,"  etc.,  etc.  "Major  Gervaise  Brandon," — it 
was  because  the  Major's  name  was  Gervaise  that  he 
was  invariably  called  Tom — "  of  New  York,  was 
best  man ;  the  bridesmaid,  Miss  Winifred  Radnor ; 
the  ushers,  Messrs.  Dallas  Riddle,  of  Philadelphia, 
and  Schuyler  Schermerhorn,  of  New  York.  The 
happy  couple  will  spend  the  honeymoon  in  the  house 
of  Miss  Emily  Austin,  at  Lenox,  Mass.,  an  aunt  of 
the  groom,  before  making  a  trip  to  Europe.  The 
presents,  said  to  be  numerous  and  costly,  were  not 
shown 

"A  trip  to  Europe?" 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  ?  "  But  Dorothy  evaded 
the  question ;  and  nothing  more,  that  was  spoken, 
passed  between  them  for  the  time.  The  day  (a  most 
glorious  one)  was  passed  in  riding  in  the  woods, 
and  this  day,  by  our  hero,  was  never  forgotten. 
Not  the  too  melodramatic  excitement  of  the  wed 
ding  day ;  not  the  Franccsca-like  kiss  of  wooing ; 
far  less  the  delirium  of  the  twenty-four  hours  fol 
lowing  the  wedding  (what  man  ever  remembers 
them?)  had  half  the  memorable  quality,  a  tithe  of 
the  pure  human  bliss,  that  gilded  those  life-climax 
making  hours  in  the  brown  mountain  woods.  Wheth 
er  it  was  that  his  anxieties  were  lulled,  his  fears  that 
he  had  embroiled  Dorothy  with  her  family  set 
at  rest,  or  whether  the  peace  of  the  usual  human 

50 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

relation  stilled  his  soul;  or  whether  his  heart  was 
subtly  conscious  that  his  rash  experiment  had  really 
brought  the  woman  love — this  girl  who  cantered  by 
his  side,  her  hair  unbound  for  his  pleasure  and  cov 
ering  his  eyes  with  warm  night  as  he  leaned  from 
his  horse  to  kiss  her  parted  lips.  The  world  was 
right,  their  love  was  right ;  it  was  right  that  he 
should  be  the  father  of  her  child.  The  horses 
seemed  to  feel  it  too :  it  was  strange  how  his  own,  a 
spirited  over-fed  thoroughbred,  insufficiently  exer 
cised  by  his  old  aunt's  grooms,  who  had  pulled  his 
forearm  to  a  cramp  as  they  rode  apart  upon  the 
high  road,  so  that  he  even  dashed  ahead  of  her  and 
the  village  boys  turned  round  to  watch  the  runa 
way — when  they  came  to  the  woods  and  none  could 
see  them,  and  Austin,  thinking  little  of  his  horse, 
half  dropped  the  curb  to  bend  back  to  the  girl,  to 
call  her  to  his  side,  changing  reins  to  pass  his  left 
arm  under  hers,  pressing  her  full  young  form, 
seized  not  the  bit  as  he  slackened,  but  came  to  a 
walk,  close  beside  her  quieter  mare.  So  side  by  side 
they  walked,  and  his  kisses  fell  almost  as  thick  upon 
her  as  the  dropping  leaves. 

They  stopped  in  some  country  village,  far  over 
the  mountain  in  New  York,  for  food  or  to  rest 
the  horses ;  but  shunning  the  village  inns  themselves, 
they  walked  by  a  mountain  stream  which  made  black 

51 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

pools  and  silvery  plunges  beneath  the  scarlet  maple 
and  yellow  chestnut  and  birch.  They  rode  home 
slower,  in  the  afternoon  with  tired  horses ;  only  as 
the  sun  sank  beyond  Yokum's  Seat  did  their  horses' 
hoofs  ring  slowly  on  the  pavement  of  the  stable- 
yard.  Then  their  day  of  love  ended  and  they  must 
face  the  world. 

The  world,  for  the  moment,  was  personified  in 
Mrs  Somers,  and  at  five  o'clock  Dorothy,  in  the 
finest  carriage  in  the  stable,  started  to  drive  for 
her  mother  to  the  nearest  railway  station.  But 
Dorothy  was  still  in  the  highest  of  spirits ;  this 
young  lady  evidently  did  not  hold  her  mother  in 
much  awe.  Austin,  left  at  home,  was  graver.  He 
sat  down  to  write  his  answer  to  the  Major,  before 
she  arrived ;  it  seemed  the  better  taste  not  to  have 
to  refer,  even  to  the  Major,  to  the  domestic  experi 
ences  of  his  new  family  circle.  As  he  wrote,  he 
caught  himself  envying  the  easy  cheerfulness  with 
which  the  Major  had  contemplated  his  first  inter 
view  with  Mrs  Somers. 

That  lady  arrived,  somewhat  tearful  and  very 
tired,  at  half-past  six,  and  demanded  instantly  to 
be  shown  to  her  room.  Both  Dorothy  and  Austin 
omitted  any  presentation  of  him  to  her ;  he  had  seen 
her  several  times  the  year  before,  at  Baden-Baden ; 
the  son-in-law  relation  was  at  once  assumed.  He 

52 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

thanked  her  for  having  intelligence  enough  to  ac 
cept  it.  As  she  allowed  him  to  take  her  hand, 
"  You  must  forgive  me,"  he  said,  "  I  loved  her  so." 
Mrs  Somers  only  remarked  that  the  train  had  been 
very  hot  and  she  was  very  tired,  and  that  her  mind 
was  disquieted  as  to  the  hour  when  her  trunks  would 
come.  "  We  can  easily  put  dinner  off  an  hour,"  said 
Austin.  It  was  rather  a  master  stroke.  Mrs  Som 
ers  looked  covertly  about  the  house;  the  footman 
was  unexceptional ;  he  betokened  full  dress.  "  Sure 
ly  you  don't  expect  anyone  to  dinner  to-night?  " 
said  she. 

The  question  suggested  to  our  hero  the  wish 
that  he  had  thought  of  it ;  but  he  only  replied  in 
the  negative.  "  We  thought  of  asking  the  Van 
Courtlandts  to-morrow ;  they  are  old  friends,  I  be 
lieve;  but  no  one  is  coming  to-night." 

Austin  was  lady's  maid  to  his  young  wife  that 
night ;  perhaps  it  was  fortunate  that  the  dinner 
was  put  off;  and  he  made  her  wear  all  her  pearls. 
For  with  his  own  had  come  later  two  duplicates 
from  the  Major,  making  a  strand  of  three  like  the 
lost  Gansevoort  offering.  The  dinner  was  excellent. 

"  You  really  must  go  to  Europe  first,"  said  Mrs 
Somers  in  the  evening.  "  I  really  couldn't  bear  it, 
for  a  few  months." 

And  that  was  all. 

53 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XI 


BUT  first  Austin  took  his  bride  to  Cambridge. 
The  trip  to  Europe  was  impossible,  for  all 
Pinckney's  ambitions  were  now  multiplied  tenfold. 
If  it  had  seemed  before  that  only  the  highest  places 
in  his  profession  were  worth  his  life,  it  was  tenfold 
more  true  now  that  his  end,  whatever  it  be,  must 
be  made  worthy  of  her  as  well.  He  had  money 
enough  to  live  upon,  meanwhile ;  and  the  foundation 
could  be  none  too  carefully  laid  that  was  to  carry 
him  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  that 
highest  of  tribunes  in  the  world — or  to  the  Court 
of  St.  James's,  if  haply  she  should  prefer.  As  a 
road  to  wealth,  the  law  was  not  so  much  in  his  mind ; 
indeed  it  was  not  so  well-trodden  a  path  in  those 
days  as  it  has  since  become. 

They  took  a  little  wooden  house  on  one  of  the 
shaded  eminences  that  Cambridge  dignifies  with  the 
name  of  hill.  They  kept  but  two  servants ;  and  while 
Austin  was  absent  at  his  law  lectures,  Mrs  Pinckney 
was  kept  busy  with  the  housekeeping.  Of  this  es 
sential  art  of  life  she  knew  absolutely  nothing,  Mrs 
Somers  having  brought  her  up  to  know  only  the 
arts  she  deemed  necessary  to  a  brilliant  marriage. 
Probably  this  made  it  all  the  more  amusing  to  Doro- 

54 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

thy,  who  had  the  Southern  woman's  readiness  at 
practical  affairs  without  her  laziness  and  tolerance 
of  petty  imperfections,  and  a  Northern  woman's 
understanding  of  the  character  of  Yankee  "  help  " 
without  her  tendency  to  "  nag."  Her  time  was  suf 
ficiently  diversified  with  society  pleasures,  for  their 
marriage  had  made  more  than  a  nine  days'  wonder; 
Mrs  Shirley  and  other  Boston  relatives  of  our  hero 
made  haste  to  welcome  her  and  make  much  of  the 
Philadelphia  beauty,  who  had  not  been  tempted  by 
the  largest  hoard  of  those  New  York  millions  whose 
existence  Boston  was  already  learning  to  resent. 

Dorothy  successfully  resisted  any  inclination  of 
her  mother  to  visit  her  that  winter — which  was  not 
indeed  difficult,  as  that  gay  widow  was  busy  with 
her  balls  and  already  preparing  the  debut  of  the 
younger  sister  who  should  repair  poor  Dorothy's 
failure — promising  in  return  a  long  visit  for  the 
holidays.  But  the  Major  was  an  honored  guest; 
first  of  all  to  visit  them,  he  stayed  a  fortnight  in 
the  spare  chamber  without  his  valet,  and  threw  him 
self  into  the  academic  life  and  its  doings  in  a  man 
ner  which  did  equal  honor  to  his  head  and  heart.  By 
no  means  an  unlettered  man  (indeed  he  used  to  won 
der  what  sort  of  old  age  that  jeunesse  which  de 
lights  only  in  the  strength  of  a  horse  was  going  to 
lay  up  for  itself)  he  reveled  in  the  novelty  of  meet- 

55 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing  authors  and  professors ;  and,  if  he  was  not  quite 
so  enthusiastic  about  their  wives,  he  regarded  them 
with  the  highest  respect.  Of  many  of  their  daughters 
he  seemed  to  think  that  something  might  be  made, 
provided  they  were  taken  young  enough.  But  most 
of  all  he  was  enraptured  with  Dorothy  herself.  It 
was  so  delightful  (as  he  told  Mrs  Arthur  Shirley) 
to  see  a  young  lady  growing  in  her  home,  fitting  her 
niche  so  perfectly,  building  about  her,  as  a  bird 
its  nest,  her  house  and  household.  In  such  house 
holds  (the  Major  was  then  known  to  say)  lay  the 
safety  of  America  that  was  to  come.  He  insisted 
that  Austin  should  go  to  his  lectures  just  the  same; 
fortunately  they  came  in  the  morning,  usually  be 
fore  the  Major  was  up.  In  the  afternoon  there  was 
often  daylight  for  a  sleigh  ride  all  together,  and 
when  Austin  had  a  leisure  evening  there  was  the 
theatre  in  Boston ;  at  other  times  he  would  peg  away 
at  his  lecture  notes,  and  Major  Brandon  would  sit 
and  smoke  and  watch  Dorothy  busy  herself  about 
household  affairs.  It  was  from  this  time  the  Major 
learned  to  assert  that  there  was  poetry  in  a  feather 
duster,  properly  applied,  daintily  and  deftly,  its 
owner  standing  tip-toe  on  a  chair.  For  Dorothy, 
finding  the  law  indeed  a  jealous  mistress,  asserted 
her  wifely  interest  in  the  house,  if  not  in  the  head. 
The  sense  of  possession  delighted  her.  Though 

56 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

they  had  but  a  year's  lease  and  the  house  was  fur 
nished  by  the  owner  (according  to  stern  Yankee 
standards),  their  wedding  presents  and  what  they 
had  bought  since  were  hers,  and  gave  her  pleasure 
of  a  sort  she  had  never  felt  in  the  more  pretentious 
possessions  of  her  mother's  home. 

To  the  Major,  who  knew  Boston  almost  as  well 
as  he  knew  London,  it  was  a  time  for  taking  up 
past  acquaintances.  He  was  put  down  at  the  same 
old  club,  and  met  the  same  old  people,  too  often 
with  a  pang  caused  by  the  too  obvious,  in  their 
cases,  irreparable  outrage  of  the  years.  A  cosmo 
politan  existence,  after  all,  conduces  to  youth ; 
though  possibly  one's  toes  must  suffer  for  the  more 
youthful  face.  After  all,  his  best  hours  were  passed 
at  the  little  house  in  Cambridge. 

Austin  was  acquiring  an  enthusiasm  for  John 
Marshall,  the  father  of  our  Constitution ;  and  the 
Major  thoroughly  approved  his  doing  so.  "  There 
is  a  man !  "  Austin  would  say ;  "  there  is  a  career ! 
to  make  a  nation  of  one's  own  brains !  to  lead  an 
intellectual  life  that  was  also  one  of  the  highest 
patriotism !  "  Austin  swore  he  would  pass  the  long 
vacation  in  writing  the  life  of  Marshall,  and  the 
Major,  having  learned  that  Marshall  was  a  man  who 
had  become  Chief  Justice  of  the  United  States,  ap 
plauded.  (This  life  remains  unwritten ;  for  later, 
5  57 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  the  summer,  came  the  plan  of  taking  his  young 
wife  by  canoe  to  the  rivers  of  Canada,  and  later,  in 
the  winter,  came  the  baby.)  The  Major  went 
with  them  to  several  dinners,  not  only  in  Boston  but 
in  Cambridge,  dinners  which  delighted  him,  though 
he  wished  the  living  had  been  plainer.  Their  house 
was  just  about  an  arm's  length  from  a  dozen 
neighbors',  each  fronting  or  siding  upon  a  neigh 
bor's  back  yard  (one  wonders  when  we  shall  learn 
to  be  suburban  in  blocks,  and  be  done  with  it — and 
so  get  space  for  real  gardens,  and  tennis  grounds 
between,  and  hang  our  clean  linen  in  a  common 
secret  place).  In  the  rear  was  a  little  garden  with 
a  walk  rimmed  in  ancient  but  still-struggling  box — 
a  box  that  had  incorrigibly  put  forth  its  leaves  for 
pleasure  through  many  Puritan  winters :  and  the 
Major,  on  sunny  days,  would  walk  and  smoke  his 
cigar  there,  thinking  of  his  good  talk  of  the  night 
before.  Knowledge  of  the  world  is  never  at  a  loss 
with  a  knowledge  of  books,  though  sometimes  it  is 
the  other  way  about ;  and  he  felt  pleasantly  con 
scious  of  having  carried  with  him  to  the  entertain 
ment  his  fair  share.  "  Call  it  provincial !  "  he  wrote 
a  friend — "  why,  it's  one  of  the  market-places  of 
the  world's  intelligence !  " — "  They  know  the  world 
in  a  far  more  real  way  than  I — they  know  the 
Cabinet  ministers,  thinkers,  fellers  that  are  doin' 

58 


things  " — he  said  to  Dorothy — "  they  live  just  as 
we  do,  only  more  sensibly — and  I  don't  suppose 
we've  met  a  man  who  spends  more  than  ten  thousand 
a  year !  " 

Austin  contracted  a  friendship  with  Wentworth, 
a  member  of  his  class  in  the  law  school — and  brought 
him  to  the  house.  Wentworth  adored  Austin,  but 
they  used  to  have  the  fiercest  arguments  upon 
points  of  law.  "  When  I  mail  a  letter  accepting 
your  offer,  have  I  made  a  contract?  If  so,  can  I 
telegraph  you  withdrawing  the  acceptance?  If  so, 
you  are  bound,  and  I  am  not  bound —  "  That  in 
variably  happens  when  you  write  a  love  letter,"  the 
Major  would  interpolate.  "  The  only  thing  is,  if 
she  has  your  letters,  to  make  sure  you  have  her 
kisses!"  But  the  Major  was  frowned  down  and 
turned  to  Dorothy,  who  understood  him.  "  A 
woman's  kisses  are  hostages  given  for  her  good 
faith."  Much  time  was  given  by  them  to  this  com 
plex  question  (the  mailing  of  the  letter,  we  mean)  ; 
they  conceived  it  would  be  of  infinite  use  to  them 
in  after-life.  Markoff,  another  student,  used  rather 
to  make  fun  of  these  questions ;  he  even  doubted 
whether  the  New  York  courts  would  much  concern 
themselves  over  the  great  distinction  between  con 
tracts  that  were  unilateral  and  those  which  were 
bilateral;  a  brilliant  person,  but  erratic,  whose 

59 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

marks  rose  sometimes  to  a  hundred  and  then  sank 
to  the  danger  line.  Markoff  came  from  Iowa,  but 
he  also  meant  to  practise  in  the  city  of  New  York. 
He  never  mentioned  his  family,  though  no  one  was 
antisemite  at  Cambridge ;  in  reality  he  had  been 
born  in  Iowa,  though  his  father,  Markovsky,  had 
been  a  Russian  Jew  who  had  made  a  competency 
out  of  a  Keokuk  dry  goods  store.  Markoff  had 
left  the  business  to  his  brothers  and  taken  his  share, 
with  a  liberal  discount,  in  cash.  A  very  few  months 
in  Chicago  (it  was  1882)  had  convinced  him  that  a 
lawyer's  fees  came  from  New  York ;  it  was  a  greater 
proof  of  his  intelligence  that  a  very  few  months  in 
a  Wall  Street  law  office  had  convinced  him  that  the 
best  avenue  of  approach  even  to  New  York  prac 
tice — of  the  kind  he  only  wanted — lay  through  the 
Harvard  Law  School.  So  there  he  had  appeared, 
dropping  the  sky  on  the  way ;  his  type  of  face  was 
too  European  to  call  himself  Hamilton  or  Ruther 
ford  as  his  congeners  so  often  do ;  but  he  gave  his 
address  New  York,  and  dressed  as  a  New  Yorker ; 
he  had  learned  the  art  there.  But  Markoff  cared 
nothing  for  John  Marshall ;  he  wished  to  be,  not  a 
jurist,  but  a  millionaire;  and  he  wished  to  spend  his 
million  }roung.  The  subtleties  of  the  Dane  Law 
School  impressed  his  mind  as  idle  casuistry,  but  he 
valued  its  introductions.  After  the  Major  left,  he 

60 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

came  to  the  house  more  frequently.     He  never  could 
get  on  with  the  Major. 

For  the  Christmas  vacation  they  went  to  Phila 
delphia  ;  here  the  open  reconciliation  with  Mrs  Som- 
ers  took  place,  and  the  bridal  couple  were  pro 
duced  at  the  more  important  balls.  Philadel 
phia  was  charming  to  them.  To  begin  with,  it  does 
not  care  for  money,  and  it  does  care  for  South 
Carolina  Pinckneys;  then  it  secretly  enjoyed  Mrs 
Somers'  disappointment;  finally,  they  were  young 
and  handsome  and  the  old  ladies  liked  to  see  them 
together.  The  men,  to  Pinckney,  were  most  friend 
ly  ;  and  Dorothy  had  never  been  so  popular ;  while 
the  ushers  and  other  men  who  had  been  bidden  to 
the  Camden  wedding  made  a  little  bodyguard  to  see 
that  Mrs  Pinckney  lacked  no  favors  and  had  always 
a  suitor  waiting  while  she  danced.  For  the  world  is 
a  kind  world  to  those  who  take  it  simply,  after  all. 
And  they  had  taken  it  in  the  simplest  fashion — get 
ting  wed. 


XII 


THE  few  who  have  really  found  out  the  delights 
of  canoe  voyaging  do  not  boast  of  their  good 
fortune.     The  haunts  they  have  discovered  must  be 
told  to  few  (and  those  few  feminine),  or,  at  most, 

61 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

shared  with  a  brother  canoeist.  But  you  may  know 
them,  in  May,  by  their  look  of  Arcady ;  all  day  they 
go  to  and  fro,  busying  themselves  in  cities  with  their 
affairs,  lost  daisies  in  their  eyes.  Your  angler  too 
is  uneasy,  but  (with  or  without  his  basket)  he  is 
bent  upon  material  gain.  He  is  after  the  brooks 
for  what  he  can  get  there;  something  of  the  coarser 
shine  of  avarice  is  in  his  eyes.  But  the  canoe  voy 
ager  has  the  dreamy  look  of  one  who  has  been  kissed 
upon  the  lips  by  a  woodland  nymph  and  forgotten 
just  where  it  happened. 

For  the  canoe  takes  you  "  by  still  rivers  and  soli 
tary  mere,  and  where  the  water  brook  delivers  [this 
avoid]  its  waters  to  the  weir  " ;  behind  the  villages, 
at  their  back  doors,  where  they  touch  nature,  and 
reveal  their  life;  from  town  to  town  by  the  unknown 
way ;  untrodden  these  two  centuries,  with  fine  moss- 
grown  streets  of  crowfoot  and  meadow  rue;  a  silent 
road,  for  all  noise  of  axle,  wheel,  or  cog,  voiceless 
of  steam,  but  full  of  the  voice  of  all  things  else. 
If  you  meet  the  natives,  they  take  you  simply:  chil 
dren  first,  then  women  (always  the  easier  road  to 
their  hearts).  You  learn  no  formal  front  from  the 
river,  but  the  back-yard,  the  true  forum  of  domestic 
activity ;  you  learn  what  they  eat,  and  wear,  and 
what  they  think ;  you  eat  of  their  new-laid  eggs  and 
sleep  (if  they  will  let  you)  in  their  haylofts;  you 

62 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

talk  with  Mother  of  the  girls,  with  the  girls  of  the 
boys,  with  Father,  in  his  shirt  sleeves,  of  the  well- 
being  of  your  common  country,  yourself  not  too 
formally  clad  in  flannels  and  bare  sun-burned  arms. 

Austin  had  canoed  in  England,  in  Lorraine,  and 
in  the  Netherlands ;  New  England  rivers  were  new 
to  him ;  but  he  sought  to  inspire  Dorothy  with  a 
sympathy  for  his  enthusiasm  for  that  sweetest,  most 
individual,  most  personal  of  sports ;  a  yachting  which 
depends  not  on  millions,  but  on  the  person ;  which 
requires,  not  the  labor  and  the  company  of  a  dozen 
hired  men,  but  only  a  sound  heart,  a  healthy  body, 
and  a  full  mind.  It  was  just  the  thing  for  them 
that  summer:  to  keep  them  alone  together,  yet  give 
them  the  joys  of  travel  and  outdoors.  He  took 
advice,  and  got  a  canvas  canoe  built  for  him  in  Old- 
town,  Maine ;  a  seventeen-footer,  roomy  enough  for 
cruising,  able  to  carry  four  without  baggage.  In 
this  they  had  their  daily  outing  on  the  Charles  River, 
watching  the  college  eights  behind  the  houses  on 
Beacon  Street,  or  pushing  up  the  tidal  stream  to 
Watertown,  where  the  country  river  trickles  over  the 
last  dam  to  find  itself  at  sea. 

Wentworth  was  sometimes  with  them  on  their 
trips ;  he  was  a  sturdy,  fair-haired  lad  from  New 
Hampshire,  with  sensitive  blue  eyes.  One  day  in 
June  they  were  emboldened  for  a  Viking's  voyage, 

63 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

nothing  less  than  to  paddle  down  the  harbor  on  a 
still  day  and  dine  at  Taft's.  For  that  famous  hos 
telry  was  still  running;  it  was  (as  all  the  world 
then  knew)  upon  a  point  near  Shirley  Gut,  through 
which  deep,  tortuous  tide  channel,  the  story  runs,  a 
Yankee  frigate  once  escaped  a  British  cruiser.  Out 
side  it  was  the  sea,  with  real  surf  upon  a  beach — 
upon  this  occasion  he  invited  Markoff,  as  a  passen 
ger  ;  Wentworth,  an  athlete  and  a  skilled  canoeist, 
taking  the  stern  paddle,  Dorothy  on  the  bottom  fac 
ing  him,  her  back  upon  a  cane  rest  against  the 
thwart,  while  Austin,  slenderer,  took  the  bow,  Mar 
koff  on  the  bench  behind  him. 

They  had  much  fun  and  some  difficulty  in  get 
ting  under  the  many  pile  bridges  that,  spider-like, 
connect  Boston  with  the  mainland,  railway  bridges 
most  of  them,  making  it  not  too  clean  a  job.  And 
when  they  swung  out,  past  the  navy  yard,  by  the 
ocean  liners  at  East  Boston,  a  smart  short  sea  met 
them,  making  the  light  bow  dance  wildly.  Markoff 
wanted  to  turn  back,  and  whispered  to  Austin ;  dip 
ping  his  paddle  to  hold  the  bow  up,  he  looked  around ; 
as  he  did  so  a  swash  of  salt  water  came  over  the  side, 
wetting  Dorothy's  light  gown.  "  Is  it  too  much, 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,"  said  Wentworth,  laughing  up  at 
her  as  he  swung  the  stern  around  in  a  strong  curved 

64 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

stroke,  "  we'll  do  it  splendidly !  Shan't  we,  Mrs 
Pinckney  ?  " 

"  I  think  it's  great  fun,"  said  Dorothy ;  and 
Markoff  said  no  more.  But  coming  back  even  Went- 
worth  suggested  that  she  should  return  by  train ;  a 
strong  east  wind  had  set  in  after  sunset  and  the 
bridges  were  not  too  easy  in  the  dark. 

"  I'll  take  her  back,  with  Markoff." 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  Austin  said ;  but  Wentworth 
answered  that  was  nonsense. 

"  He'll  do  well  enough  at  bow,  before  the  wind. 
You  take  Mrs  Pinckney  home."  So  Austin  and  his 
wife  were  driven  in  the  evening  along  the  beach  to 
the  nearest  railway ;  their  dinner  had  been  excellent, 
and  a  large  moon  rose  out  of  the  unbroken  sea  line 
to  the  east.  They  laughed  a  little  at  Markoff, 
talked  a  word  of  praise  for  Wentworth,  and  then, 
happiest  of  all  themes,  of  themselves. 

But  that  same  full  moon  brought  a  tide  that 
made  the  others  some  trouble.  Wentworth  never 
said  a  word;  but  Markoff  told  them  afterwards  that 
they  had  to  lie  on  their  backs  under  the  bridges,  were 
nearly  capsized  in  the  dark,  and  that  it  was  after 
midnight  when  they  got  the  canoe  to  Cambridge. 
Markoff  abhorred  personal  discomfort. 

Bromidon !     It  is  a  stream,  a  lost  river,  never 
65 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to  be  seen  again  of  men.  For  many  years  Austin 
remembered  it — I  wonder  if  he  remembers  it  now? 
He  stoutly  asserted  always  that  it  emptied  into  the 
Connecticut ;  out  of  which  more  commonplace  river 
they  were  lured  one  late  June  morning  by  what  curvo 
of  lily-fringed  lower  beach,  by  what  sheen  of  mist 
or  sparkle  of  mountain,  he  never  could  describe. 
Then  there  was  a  foaming  rapid,  below  a  fall,  above 
which  the  peace  of  the  river  lay  for  many  miles.  The 
northern  pastures  still  were  a  riot  of  the  May :  the 
yellow  pollen  dust  lay  on  the  water,  like  moss  upon 
black  marble;  the  lower  forest  glades  were  lit  with 
red  azalea,  the  pathways  with  wild  rose,  the  air  they 
breathed  was  laden,  sweet  as  the  breath  of  a  young 
girl  you  would  kiss,  with  the  sweetest  of  all  odors, 
the  blossom  of  the  wild  grape.  Bromidon ! 

For  many  miles  they  explored  this  stream,  that 
comes  down  from  the  Delectable  Mountains,  in  a  land 
that  has  no  villages  and  yet  is  too  tender  to  be  wild ; 
humanized  with  old  wood  roads  and  leveled  pastures 
and  blooms  that  have  their  birth  in  gardens.  All 
the  hours  of  that  day  they  spent  there,  when  they 
should  have  been  down  the  great  river  getting  on 
to  Windsor — or  to  Vernon — or  to  Charlestown — 
Austin  would  never  tell. 

They  had  left  Cambridge  ten  days  before,  the 
moment  the  examinations  were  over.  By  still  rivers 

66 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

— Charles,  Concord,  Assabet — they  had  reached  the 
swifter  Nashua ;  then  there  had  been  a  day  or  two 
upon  the  Merrimac,  until  it  began  to  babble  over 
stones;  then  the  railway  had  carried  them  to  the 
Connecticut,  down  which  they  were  supposed  to  be 
returning.  But  the  most  sweet  hours  are  those 
which  one  loses  in  this  world.  That  day  was  given 
to  Bromidon.  Above  the  meadows  were  the  great 
grave  pines ;  and  above  the  pines  came  now  and  then 
the  azure  shoulder  of  some  purple  mountain,  mel 
lowed  to  a  russet  red  where  outlines  struck  the  sun. 
When  it  sank,  red  and  clear,  they  found  the  nearest 
farmhouse. 

XIII 

THE  morning  came  gray  and  doubtful,  with  a 
blustering  wind.  Embarked  on  the  great 
river,  they  had  to  hurry  to  get  to  Bellows  Falls 
before  the  brewing  storm.  A  strong  spring  flood 
helped  them,  and  a  northeast  wind;  six  miles  an 
hour  are  eas}^,  done  in  such  conditions.  Dorothy 
was  evidently  out  of  spirits ;  she  complained  of  not 
feeling  very  well.  Austin  hurried  and  made  a  long 
morning  of  it,  digging  his  shoulder  into  the  stroke; 
but  oftener  and  oftener  the  blade  of  the  paddle  was 
needed  in  the  water  to  steady  the  frail  bark  in  a 

67 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

swirl  of  foam  or  a  gust  of  wind  that  hurried  down 
the  rapid  river.  So  they  got  to  Bellows  Falls  by 
two  o'clock,  not  stopping  for  any  lunch ;  it  was  well 
they  had  it  with  them  though,  for  "  dinner  "  in  the 
cheerless  country  hotel  was  over  and  they  were  in 
formed  that  the  "  help  "  had  gone  out  for  the  after 
noon  and  they  could  have  nothing,  not  even  tea,  until 
supper  time  at  six  o'clock.  So  they  ate  their  canoe 
lunch  upon  a  marble-topped  table  and  Austin  made 
some  tea  upon  the  stove. 

But  Dorothy  did  not  get  any  better  that  night 
and  Austin  lay  awake  worrying  about  her.  And 
when  he  did  fall  asleep,  toward  morning,  he  was 
awakened  by  the  slightest  sound  from  her,  but  to 
him  the  most  terrible.  Dorothy  was  sobbing.  He 
sprang  to  kiss  her,  with  loving  solicitations. 

By  daylight  it  came  out.  It  was  not  that  she 
was  tired  of  the  trip,  but — yes,  she  would  like  to  go 
back  to  Cambridge.  Dorothy  had  never  been  alone 
in  her  life  before ;  the  cheerless,  squalid  hotel,  the 
stormy  contact  with  nature —  There  is  a  story  of 
a  lady  of  society  who  for  the  first  time  crossing  the 
plains  in  a  Pullman  car  pinned  newspapers  to  all  the 
windows  to  keep  out  the  prairies'  vastness.  They 
had  been  gone  over  a  week  and  in  all  that  time  had 
spoken  with  no  soul  they  knew.  "  I  think  I  should 
like  you  better,  Austin,"  Dorothy  admitted,  in  an 

68 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

engaging  burst  of  frankness,  "  if  I  saw  some  other 
people  too." 

They  came  back  to  Cambridge,  where  the  canoe 
was  housed  and  Dorothy's  trunks  refitted,  and  then 
sent  to  Bar  Harbor.  Austin  barely  gave  a  sigh  at 
the  change  of  plans,  but  took  advantage  of  the 
opportunity  to  fill  his  own  trunk  with  law  books. 
After  all,  Mount  Desert  would  be  a  great  place  to 
study.  Dorothy  went  in  to  her  dressmaker's,  while 
he  stirred  the  dust  of  the  library.  At  least,  this  was 
what  he  supposed;  but  (it  was  only  the  second  even 
ing  in  Cambridge,  the  place  was  hot,  and  they  were 
to  leave  on  the  day  after)  his  wife  came  home  with 
a  changed  face.  She  had  complained  of  feeling  un 
well  that  morning,  and  Austin  had  begged  her  not 
to  go  to  town ;  but  she  had  persisted  and  he  had 
desisted,  apprehensive  of  delay  caused  by  dressmak 
ing  difficulties  and  very  desirous  of  getting  her  into 
the  changed  air  of  the  Maine  coast.  The  Cambridge 
air  was  lifeless,  and  the  place  almost  as  lonely  as 
that  dreadful  hotel,  memorable  always  to  Austin  as 
the  place  where  his  wife  had  first  cried.  But  to 
night  her  pallor  was  alarming,  and  he  began  to  scold. 

"  O  Austin,  I  have  not  been  to  the  dressmaker's !  " 
she  cried;  "I  have  been  to  Dr.  Byfield's."  (Dr. 
By  field  was  the  family  physician,  recommended  by 
Aunt  Emily  Austin.)  "  I— I  am  going  to  have  a 

69 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

baby."  Then  she  burst  into  tears.  Austin  flew  to 
her  with  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  over  and  over  again. 
"  Darling,  oh,  my  darling,"  was  all  he  could  say ; 
but  he  said  it  many,  many  times,  between  the  kisses 
that  he  smothered  her  with.  He  kissed  her  lips  over 
and  over  again,  then  her  brow,  where  the  wonderful 
hair  like  burnished  copper  was  penciled  on  the  milk- 
white  flesh.  "  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  we  came  back  from 
New  Hampshire!  Darling,  you  don't  think  it  was 
too  much  for  you — the  river,  I  mean  ?  " 

Dorothy  shook  her  head.  "  If  only  we  can  go 
to  Bar  Harbor  just  the  same."  The  tears  hung  on 
her  eyelids,  and  he  kissed  them  away.  Then,  his  lips 
still  wet,  he  kissed  her  lips  once  more.  His  arms 
were  tight  about  her  waist.  "  Don't  dear,  you 
hurt " 

Terrified  with  repentance,  the  youth  sank  upon 
the  great  chair,  his  bride  in  his  arms.  He  arranged 
her,  comfortably  and  tenderly,  and  sank  upon  his 
knees  before  her.  "  Dorothy !  Dorothy,  do  look  at 
me !  I  am  so  happy  !  " 

He  drew  her  forward.  She  was  in  a  white  even 
ing  gown,  half  robe,  half  wrapper;  and  as  she 
leaned  forward  to  look  at  him  her  burning  face  was 
at  his  cheek.  She  turned  it  away,  his  lips  following 
until  they  touched  hers.  Suddenly  she  returned  his 
embrace,  kissing  him  passionately,  even  as  he  took 

70 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

his  own  lips  away.  Then  she  turned  and  looked 
at  herself  a  moment  in  the  glass ;  before  draw 
ing  her  wrapper  close  across  her,  she  lifted  her 
elbows,  clasping  her  hands  behind  her  head,  and 
studied  its  reflection  long  and  earnestly.  Lovingly 
she  looked  at  herself;  lovingly  Austin  looked 
at  her. 

"  O  Austin,  it  is  so  soon !     You  will  not  expect 
me  to  nurse  it,  will  you?  " 


XIV 

IN  January,  the  next  year,  their  child  was  born ;  and 
it  lived  a  day.  Its  dying  made  a  dike  in  Austin's 
nature  as  when  volcanic  lava  fills  a  rift  in  granite, 
hardened  into  permanence.  Strangely  enough  (for 
such  things  are  thought  to  mean  more  for  women) 
Dorothy's  nature  seemed  to  absorb  the  wound.  She 
would  not  go  into  mourning  for  an  unchristened 
child:  before  the  winter  was  over  she  was  home  in 
Philadelphia,  dancing  at  a  ball  with  a  figure  slender 
as  any  girl's,  only  the  ripe  roundness,  the  full  shoul 
der,  for  a  girl  to  envy. 

She  was  the  rage  that  winter.  Men  were  crazy 
about  her.  She  dressed  richly  and  yet  girlishly ; 
the  women  said,  too  much.  Yet  her  figure  was  so 

71 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

childish  that  she  might  wear  what  another  woman 
could  not.  Her  loose  gown  might  fall  away  as  from 
a  wood  nymph  or  slip  from  one  round  shoulder:  the 
line  of  the  white  chest  lay  straight  and  pure,  like 
a  child's.  Artists  asked  to  paint  her:  she  was  proud 
of  it.  She  wrote  Austin  only  of  her  dances,  and  how 
she  enjoyed  it. 

Austin  was  thankful  that  she  was  so:  the  thing 
was  over,  he  set  his  teeth  and  worked  the  harder.  He 
did  not  go  with  her  this  time;  it  was  his  last  year 
in  Cambridge  and  he  meant  to  take  high  rank.  He 
had  grown  very  fond  of  Wentworth:  it  was  settled 
that  they  were  to  go  to  New  York  together  and 
(if  neither  of  them  was  so  lucky  as  to  get  into  a 
great  firm)  they  were  to  go  into  partnership.  He 
was  happy,  though,  when  Dorothy  got  back  just 
before  Lent  and  their  teas  began.  Wentworth  and 
Markoff  were  always  present ;  sometimes  others  of 
the  Law  School  men,  even  a  professor  or  two ;  Doro 
thy  held  quite  a  little  salon. 

But  one  day  Wentworth  came  to  him  and  told 
him  that  he  had  decided  to  give  up  going  to  New 
York,  and  nothing  that  Austin  could  urge  availed 
to  make  him  change  his  decision.  "  He  had  decided 
that  he  was  not  fitted  for  the  life  of  a  great  city. 
One  should  be  very  sure  of  oneself — very  sure  of 
one's  own  abilities,  to  risk  it.  Otherwise  it  were  bet- 

72 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ter  contentedly  to  accept  the  leadership  in  some  pro 
vincial  town." 

Austin  was  seriously  disappointed.  He  was  not 
heartbroken ;  though  the  young  New  Englander's 
friendship  had  become  very  dear  to  him.  He  begged 
him  again  and  again  to  reconsider  his  determination. 
He  reminded  him  how  they  had  planned  and  plotted 
to  shape  their  careers — almost  to  lead  their  lives  to 
gether.  But  Wentworth  was  adamant.  "  New  York 
was  well  enough  for  Austin — he  was  sure  to  take  the 
leadership  wherever  he  went;  with  his  social  connec 
tions,  he  could  seize  the  highest  opportunities.  But 
he,  Wentworth,  he  was  fitted  to  be  the  plodding  coun 
try  lawyer." 

The  matter  was  first  broached  by  Wentworth  at 
the  beginning  of  a  long  country  walk.  Still  un 
shaken  by  Austin's  argument,  he  came  to  dinner,  and 
after  it  Austin  returned  to  the  charge  in  vain. 
When  Dorothy  added  her  persuasions  to  his  he 
averted  his  eyes  but  answered  in  the  same  tenor. 
Possibly  he  infused  a  shade  more  ambition  into  his 
reasoning.  "  His  political  prospects  were  greater 
at  home " 

"  I    see,"    laughed   Austin.      "  After    all,    Daniel 

Webster    began    at    Portsmouth" — and    WentAvorth 

joined  in   the  laugh  with  obvious   relief.     Dorothy 

said  nothing  more;  and  just  then  Markoff  entered. 

6  73 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  examinations  began  shortly  after  this  con 
versation  and  Wcntworth  hardly  got  to  the  house 
again.  Markoff  continued  an  assiduous  visitor.  He 
had  always  taken  very  high  rank  and  all  believed 
that  he  would  do  so  in  the  finals ;  yet  he  alone  seemed 
always  to  have  leisure.  Austin  was  wrapped  up  in 
his  work,  so  much  so  that  he  hardly  found  time  even 
to  urge  Wentworth  to  alter  his  decision;  that  might 
go  until  the  examinations  were  over;  for  was  it  not 
rumored  that  certain  of  the  great  New  York  firms 
left  a  standing  offer  to  receive  as  students  one  or 
more  new-fledged  Harvard  LL.B.'s  each  year,  selected 
in  the  order  of  their  rank?  And  this,  to  Austin, 
meant  the  road  to  a  possible  partnership ;  to  Went 
worth,  a  paid  clerkship.  Such  a  result  might  change 
even  his  decision,  which  Austin  could  not  but  regard 
as  based  on  a  sort  of  bashfulness.  He  was  shy, 
socially  shy,  before  New  York  and  what  it  repre 
sented  ;  he  could  see  it,  even  in  his  manner  with  Doro 
thy.  But  Markoff  found  time  to  spend  half  his 
evenings  with  them ;  even,  one  night,  to  escort  Mrs 
Pinckney  to  a  popular  concert  when  Austin  could 
not  go.  Was  not  the  examination  in  Equity  Plead 
ing  the  next  morning?  Austin  sat  up  many  hours 
after  they  returned,  with  a  wet  towel  around  his 
head;  even  hours  after  his  wife  had  dismissed  her 
caller,  gone  to  her  room,  returned  in  the  sweetest  of 

74 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

laces  and  blue  ribbons,  her  hair  unbound,  and  then, 
with  a  moue,  gone  back  again.  The  birds  were  sing 
ing  in  the  twilight  of  the  dawn  when  Austin  tiptoed 
gently  through  his  wife's  room,  just  brushing  his 
lips  to  hers  as  he  passed,  to  his  own  little  crib  in 
the  alcove  beyond.  Dorothy  threw  one  white  arm 
above  her  head  and  sighed;  she  did  not  wake  up. 
Since  her  recovery,  she  had  insisted  on  having  her 
room  alone;  she  had  always  had  one  as  a  girl,  she 
said;  and  Austin,  of  course,  had  yielded.  The 
Major  was  fond  of  saying  that  her  sex  were  at  their 
best  as  slaves,  she  said  with  a  laugh ;  but  even  a  slave 
might  be  queen  in  her  bedchamber! 

When  the  result  of  the  examinations  was  known, 
Markoff  led  them  all ;  he  graduated  with  special  dis 
tinction  ;  as  we  should  now  say,  summa  cum  laude. 
Wentworth  and  Austin  both  got  honors,  the  latter 
passing  a  bit  the  better  of  the  two.  "  You  see,  I 
am  right,"  wrote  Wentworth  the  following  morning, 
"  and  before  you  get  this  letter,  I  shall  be  back  in 
Springvale."  To  Mrs  Pinckney  he  left  a  very  large 
sheaf  of  roses ;  and  Dorothy  said  he  was  "  a  nice 
boy."  But  Markoff  surprised  them  all  by  accepting 
not  the  coveted  studentship  in  the  office  of  Gresham, 
Daubeny,  Radnor  &  Haviland — but  the  paid  office  of 
managing  clerk  with  Hitchcock,  Pratt  &  Auerbach. 
"  Why  do  you  do  it?  "  said  Dorothy. 

75 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Mrs  Pinckney,  as  she  spoke,  was  standing  on  the 
third  rung  of  a  step-ladder  dismounting  pictures. 
For  the  dismantling  had  come;  the  student  life  was 
over.  However  brief  the  home,  there  is  something 
sad  in  the  taking  down  of  the  household  divinities: 
the  unhooking  of  the  little  pictures — they  meant  so 
much,  when  one  put  them  up !  To  be  sure,  one  may 
have  grown  used  to  them  since — the  soft-eyed  Ma 
donna  is  only  an  engraving,  the  clouds  of  Monte 
Rosa  only  photographed.  Dorothy  had  no  senti 
ments  about  the  little  Cambridge  house,  and  she 
looked  over  her  muslin  straight  as  she  spoke,  at  Mar- 
koff,  whom  she  had  permitted,  nay  invited,  to  lounge 
upon  the  sofa,  while  she  worked.  But  as  she  had 
looped  up  her  pretty  evening  dress  behind,  so  she  had 
caught  up  some  of  the  floating  muslin  before,  with 
her  mouth,  to  keep  it  from  the  dirt  of  the  ladder ; 
a  hammer  was  in  her  right  hand,  a  coil  of  picture 
cord  in  her  left,  so  that  she  half -mumbled  the  ques 
tion,  half-looked  it  to  him  with  her  eyes.  Markoff 
himself  lolled  on  the  sofa  enjoying  a  rich  cigar,  and 
looking  through  the  smoke  rings  at  her  ecstatically. 
"  Why  do  you  do  it?  "  she  said. 

"  I  must  have  money,"  he  said ;  "  I  cannot  afford 
to  wait.  The  world  is  not  smoothed  off  before  me, 
like  Austin's.  I  am  not,  like  him,  happily  mar 
ried " 

76 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  And  you  must  have  the  money  in  time  to  be," 
Dorothy  burst  into  silvery  laughter.  "  It's  very 
foolish  of  you !  " 

Markoff  sighed  as  gently  as  he  could.  Dorothy 
put  her  right  foot  on  the  rung  above.  Markoff 
looked  at  it,  and  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  it,  as  an 
other  man  might  have  done ;  Dorothy  had  the  dain 
tiest  of  ankles,  encased  this  evening  in  lavender 
silk.  "  Now  you  had  much  better  wait,"  Dorothy 
went  on.  "  You'll  simply  make  the  most  awful  mis 
take  if  you  don't !  Never  marry  young.  Wait  ten 
years,  and  let  me  look  out  a  girl  for  you,  when — 
when — 

"  When  I  can  hope  to  pretend  to  the  lady  I 
want,"  said  Markoff  grimly.  But  he  did  not  take 
his  eyes  from  her  ankle:  her  skirt  swinging  revealed, 
now  an  inch  more,  now  an  inch  less,  of  warm  silken 
roundness. 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,"  said  Dorothy  abashed. 
"  Look  out,  I  am  coining !  "  In  an  impulse  of  sym 
pathy  for  having  so  belittled  him,  she  stretched  forth 
her  hands :  Markoff  sprang  up  to  meet  them,  palm 
to  palm,  and  she  sprang  from  the  round  of  the  lad 
der,  dropping  hammer,  cords,  and  muslin  overdress. 
But  either  he  was  not  in  time  or  he  did  not  resist 
enough ;  she  fell  almost  upon  his  shirt  front  and,  for 
one  epochal  second,  he  felt  her  soft  body  against  his 

77 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

own — and  he  kissed  her  furtively,  awkwardly,  just 
above  the  cheek  bone;  but  he  kissed  her. 

Dorothy  sprang  away  as  if  he  had  been  a  snake. 
Then  first,  he  flushed.  What  her  words  had  failed 
to  penetrate,  her  physical  shrinking  turned  scarlet. 
He  cringed  with  an  apology.  But  Dorothy,  as  she 
believed,  had  been  born  a  lady,  and  just  then,  to  her 
intense  relief,  she  heard  the  street  gate  swing  to 
Austin's  step.  They  did  not  alter  their  positions, 
though  Dorothy's  lips  curled  a  line  the  more  as  she 
saw  Markoff  reach  for  his  hat.  "  Forgive  it,"  he 
whispered  to  her  again.  "  Forget  it."  The  accent 
made  her  shiver,  as  his  glance  had  not. 

"  Austin,"  she  said,  "  Mr  Markoff  has  come  to 
say  good-by  to  us."  The  words  were  simple  enough, 
but  an  angry  look  showed  that  MarkofF  understood. 
The  usual  speeches  were  interchanged.  After  he 
had  gone,  Dorothy  snuggled  her  arm  under  Austin's 
shoulder.  It  was  evident  that  his  simplicity — some 
would  say  his  nobility — had  suspected  nothing;  even 
though  Dorothy  was  conscious  of  being  a  bit  hysteri 
cal.  "  Austin,  is  Mr  MarkofF  a  Jew?  " 

Austin  looked  surprised.  "  I  don't  know,"  he 
said.  "  I  never  thought — 

"  I  don't  like  Jews,  Austin.  Austin,  I  don't 
ever  want  to  see  him  in  New  York." 


78 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XV 


AUSTIN  took  the  place  that  had  been  first 
offered  Markoff  with  Messrs  Gresham,  Dau- 
beny,  Radnor  &  Haviland;  Dorothy  (who  was 
again  spending  the  summer  at  Bar  Harbor)  coming 
to  New  York  early  in  September  to  help  him  look 
for  an  apartment.  Austin  had  had  to  take  up  his 
work  in  the  office  on  the  first  of  August,  that  month 
being  a  vacation  for  all  the  firm-name  partners, 
though  there  were  two  or  three  young  men,  with 
salaries  contingent  on  the  profits,  who  stayed  in  town 
to  manage  the  unavoidable  business.  And  here  the 
first  important  disagreement  that  arose  in  their  mar 
ried  life  was  settled  in  Austin's  favor.  For  Doro 
thy  had  inclined  to  a  flat ;  she  had  no  fondness  for 
housekeeping,  and  needed  all  her  strength  for  the 
social  relations  she  intended  to  establish ;  moreover 
you  got  more  show  for  your  money  and  in  a  flat  you 
could  not  be  expected  to  entertain.  And  when  they 
set  up  a  house,  she  was  inwardly  determined  it  should 
be  one  of  a  dignity  commensurate  with  her  aspira 
tions.  Meantime  they  might  appear  as  a  charm 
ing  young  married  couple,  romantically  poor,  the 
more  to  be  entertained  by  their  friends ;  and  for  two 
persons  of  the  names  of  Pinckney  and  Somers  their 

79 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

friends  might  be  anybody.  The  best  investment 
they  could  meanwhile  make  of  their  little  income  was 
not  a  brownstone  front  for  their  house,  but  many 
satin,  silk,  and  lace  fronts  for  her  own  pretty  figure. 
This  would  come  to  be  desired  at  dinner  parties,  and 
Austin's  brains  would  have  their  fair  start. 

But  Dorothy  did  not  venture  on  this  line  of 
reasoning  with  her  husband;  and  Austin,  after 
gloomily  inspecting  a  few  dozen  flats,  concluded  that 
life  in  any  one  of  them  must  be  necessarily  and  inher 
ently  vulgar,  and  at  the  last  gave  expression  to  his 
invincible  preference  for  his  own  rooftree  and  his 
own  front  door.  And  it  was  Dorothy  who  had  to 
yield. 

They  found  a  quiet,  roomy,  dignified  old  house 
on  East  Eleventh  Street.  The  neighborhood  had 
been  fashionable  once,  but  the  rush  of  the  eighties 
to  the  quarter  known  formerly  as  Judaea  had  shrunk 
the  rent  of  the  Washington  Square  neighborhood 
to  within  their  means,  that  is,  to  within  Austin's 
six  thousand  a  year,  aided  by  what  might  dribble 
through  to  him  from  the  elder  branches  of  his  many- 
headed  law  firm.  Dorothy's  mother  had  written  her 
that  from  now  on  she  should  allow  her  pin-money 
of  twenty-five  hundred  a  year.  Austin  had  been 
delighted  at  the  news ;  Dorothy  wondered  if  he  ex 
pected  her  to  devote  any  part  of  it  to  the  household 

80 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

expenses.  Perhaps  she  was  secretly  apprehensive 
that  he  might  ask  her  for  it.  But  it  never  reached 
beyond  the  pins. 

For  absolute  leisure,  there  has  probably  (outside 
the  harem)  been  nothing  in  the  social  history  of 
humanity  approaching  the  leisure  of  the  fashionable 
New  York  woman,  married  and  childless,  particu 
larly  before  her  fashionable  position  has  been  fully 
established.  It  is  peculiarly  so  in  New  York:  be 
cause  in  no  city  elsewhere  in  the  world  have  the 
leisured  classes  so  little  root  in  the  soil.  Something 
of  the  Hebrew  detachment  from  all  surroundings 
seems  to  have  cast  the  mould  of  civic  character  for 
our  great  city ;  its  curious  lack  of  general  public 
spirit,  evident  even  to  outsiders ;  its  want  of  munici 
pal  solidarity,  of  social  coordination.  Even  the 
forcing-house  of  municipal  corruption  had  not  yet, 
when  the  Pinckneys  took  up  their  residence  there, 
begun  to  germinate  the  sort  of  antitoxin  that  has 
now,  at  least  in  politics,  become  hopefully  visible. 
Whether  it  be  merely  the  lazy,  Dutch  farmer  blood, 
egregiously  fattened,  never  educated,  into  an  aris 
tocracy  by  the  unearned  increment ;  whether  it  be  the 
later  population  of  keen  Yankees,  commercial  Ger 
mans,  Cubans,  South  Americans,  since  the  war  ad 
venturous  Southerners,  coming  to  the  teeming  isle 
for  what  they  might  get;  or  whether,  finally  and 

81 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

again,  it  is  the  Jews  that  really  set  the  New  York 
tone — the  fact  remains  that  the  people  generally 
share  with  those  same  Jews  their  racial  habit  of  be 
ing  without  a  city,  and  lack  the  finer  Hebrew  quality 
of  caring  for  their  own.  New  Yorkers  by  their 
feathers  are  unmistakable  the  world  over;  but  have 
nothing  else — not  even  speech — in  common ;  their 
homes  are  in  the  air  like  an  orchid  box ;  they  share 
with  a  bird  of  less  gay  plumage  the  uncertainty  of 
having  no  nest  of  their  own — a  fact  of  which,  to  their 
infinite  dismay,  even  the  sombre,  shabby  West  has 
become  conscious  in  its  clumsy,  national  way.  But 
thence  comes  that  leisure  of  the  type  of  New  York 
woman  that  Dorothy  most  wished  to  know. 

She  had  become  very  fond  of  Austin  again  ;  per 
haps  the  "  again  "  is  unnecessary ;  but,  after  all, 
she  showed  it  more.  There  was  something  about  the 
little  wooden  house  in  Cambridge  which  cramped 
her  soul ;  it  now  found  expression,  and  in  the  sun 
light  and  radiance  of  the  brilliant  city  it  expanded 
freely,  metamorphosed  like  a  butterfly.  And  now 
she  took  a  real  interest  in  their  home,  in  the  furnish 
ing  of  it ;  she  never  could  have  taken  such  for  one 
in  Cambridge.  She  adapted  herself  to  her  husband's 
will,  after  a  few  sighs  for  the  situation,  amiably. 
She  was  already  proud  of  being  a  New  Yorker ;  and 
there  was  something  peculiarly  old  New  York  about 

82 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  Washington  Square  neighborhood.  The  house 
was  large,  and  that  she  liked  ;  but  it  would  take  a  lot  of 
time  to  fill  the  big  square  rooms.  She  set  about  it  at 
once ;  new  cards  were  engraved,  with  their  new  address 
and  "  Fridays  "  in  the  lower  left-hand  corner;  she  left 
them  on  all  her  acquaintances  she  knew  well  enough 
to  venture  the  first  call  upon,  and  then  went  on  a 
looting  trip  to  Philadelphia.  The  large  Somers 
mansion  contained  the  accumulation  of  many  genera 
tions  in  the  garret ;  it  might  well  be  that  there,  or 
even  lower  down,  were  stuffs  or  old  mahoganies  that 
might  give  just  the  touch  of  antiquity  she  needed  in 
their  white  new  house. 

Meantime  Austin  was  getting-  absorbed  in  his 
own  business.  The  practice  of  Messrs  Grcsham, 
Daubeny,  Radnor  &  Haviland  was  very  varied;  they 
had  their  old  Knickerbocker  landed-gentry  clients, 
their  staid  old  Manhattan  Island  corporations,  a 
dash  of  marine  business  that  came  in  through  Hugh 
Haviland,  brother  to  John,  the  banker — who  had 
been  once  four  years  a  sailor  and  worked  himself 
from  A.B.  up  to  first  officer  at  nineteen — their  dash 
of  politics  of  the  higher  kind  from  Daubeny,  a  prom 
inent  Tammany  Democrat  of  French  extraction. 
Then  they  had  some  fashionable  trusteeships,  and 
separate  maintenances,  or  even  suppressed  divorce 
cases,  through  the  younger  unnamed  members  of  the 

83 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

firm,  who  were  for  the  most  part  young  gentlemen 
of  high  social  position,  one  of  them  even  a  leader  of 
cotillons.  These  family  affairs  were  very  paying, 
and  were  usually  attended  to  by  Daubeny. 

To  Austin,  interested  in  abstract  jurisprudence, 
all  these  affairs  presented  themselves  not  as  persons, 
but  as  problems.  He  hated  to  have  legal  principles 
brought  to  his  knowledge  as  embodied  in  individual 
beings ;  there  came  at  once  to  be  something  squalid 
about  them.  And  though  the  happy  days  were 
already  far  off  in  New  York  when  even  a  Dana  could 
pride  himself  on  not  recognizing  in  a  horse-car  the 
client  for  whom  he  had  been  two  weeks  trying  a  case, 
one  advantage  of  a  great  law-mill  like  that  in  which 
Austin  worked  was  that  personal  affairs  filtered 
down  to  him  peptonized,  as  it  were,  for  legal  diges 
tion,  disinfected  of  personality,  sterilized  to  an  inor 
ganic  and  external  principle.  There  is  something, 
after  all  (as  in  most  traditional  prejudices),  in  the  old 
distinction  between  barrister  and  solicitor,  as  there 
is  in  the  old  prejudice  in  favor  of  the  highest  per 
sonal  service  professions  as  against  going  into  trade. 
For,  after  all,  the  parson  serves  his  God,  the  soldier 
his  king,  the  physician  his  fellow-men — even  the 
lawyer  (if  middling  honest)  helps  to  keep  straight 
his  sublunary  affairs ;  but  your  trader  is  merely  try 
ing  to  make  money  out  of  you. 

84 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Austin,  therefore,  was  terribly  hard  at  work.  He 
breakfasted  at  eight  sharp,  leaving  his  wife  in  bed; 
by  the  time  he  had  finished  with  the  pipe  and  scrap 
of  reading  he  never  dispensed  with,  morning  and 
night,  she  had  had  her  coffee  and  was  visible;  still 
in  bed,  but  robed  in  coquettish  ribbons  and  laces. 
When  she  was  in  the  humor,  these  morning  calls  of 
his  would  lead  to  kisses.  Then  he  would  hurry 
away,  happy,  and  stride  down  town ;  the  day  was 
gone  in  a  moment ;  tired  but  full  of  hope  he  walked 
back  again  at  six,  late  enough  to  be  in  those  most 
interesting  crowds,  the  breadwinners ;  the  thousands 
upon  thousands  of  young  girls  or  women  that  throng 
the  ferry  cross-streets  seeking  their  distant  little 
homes,  in  Long  Island  or  New  Jersey,  after  their 
ten-  or  eleven-hour  day — how  much  remained  for 
leisure  or  for  lovemaking?  Yet  they  seemed,  on 
the  whole,  as  happy  as  the  women  Austin  afterwards 
met  in  "  society."  Some  were  tired  and  pale,  but 
many  were  bright,  and  most  were  brave,  and  quite 
a  few  even  pretty.  Alas,  that  the  prettiest  should 
so  often  be  the  brightest  and  the  bravest!  But 
things  are  not  yet  all  well  in  this  world — were  it  so, 
all  would  be  beautiful.  For  is  not  all  ugliness  the 
result  of  something  wrong? 

Dorothy,  her  shopping  over,  had  found  the  day 
go  somewhat  slower  until,  coming  home,  Austin 

85 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

would  make  love  to  her  as  she  would  let  him.  Usu 
ally  in  the  evening  (it  was  still  October)  they  would 
go  to  the  theatre  together  and  occasionally  have 
supper  at  Delmonico's.  For  Austin  had  joined  no 
important  club  as  yet,  in  order  that  he  might  have 
pocket  money  for  their  pleasures,  nor  could  any 
club  yet  compete.  Thus  their  first  winter  passed. 
And,  secretly,  Austin  prayed  every  night  and  morn 
ing  for  another  child. 

XVI 

FEW  of  our  popular  novels  deal  with  the  life 
of  the  simply  rich;  and  poor  as  Dorothy 
thought  herself,  to  the  chief  of  our  newspaper  pub 
lic  they  would  rank  with  the  rich.  "  Who  drives 
fat  horses  should  himself  be  fat  " — heavy  coachmen 
command,  we  are  told,  a  better  wage  than  thin.  And 
who  would  live  with  the  rich  should  be  rich  himself. 
This  truth  Dorothy,  with  all  her  welcome,  began  to 
feel ;  of  course,  it  was  well  enough,  for  a  few  years, 
to  be  the  petted  friends,  Austin  the  rising  young 
lawyer,  she  the  "  show  girl,"  of  the  week-end  party. 
All  good  dinner  givers  like  beauty  at  their  boards 
— and  beauty  need  only  dress  the  part.  But  when 
they  were  older  and  had  children — and  she  meant 
some  day  to  have  children — how  then? 

86 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Yet  the  merely  rich  have  not  been  the  popular 
subject  of  the  best  novels — those,  I  mean,  which  pre 
tend  to  literature.  The  public,  reading  books,  pro 
fesses — or  we  profess  it  for  them — to  be  interested 
only  in  the  struggling  hero,  the  cottage  maid;  vil 
lains,  indeed,  may  be  rich,  but  heroes  must  struggle. 
The  same  public,  reading  newspapers,  is  fascinated 
by  the  supposed  realism  of  the  "  Society  column  " 
dealing  only  with  the  rich — and  the  newspapers  usu 
ally  know  what  people  like.  Can  it  be  that  it  is 
but  a  stage  tradition — are  our  bookmen  wrong? 

Factory  girls,  domestics,  indeed,  as  we  are  told, 
will  read,  in  their  Ledgers  or  Saturday  Nights,  of 
nothing  but  the  rich,  their  doings  and  their  undo 
ings.  And  farmers'  daughters,  kept  away  from  col 
lege,  living  with  their  shirt-sleeved  brothers  and 
friends'  brothers  on  the  prairie  farm,  in  the  Ukraine 
of  the  West,  may  doubtless  want  to  read  of  black- 
coated  gentlemen  in  shiny  shirts  and  hats.  Soci 
ety  ladies,  marooned  in  Peoria  or  San  Diego,  must 
have  telegraphed  to  them  the  names  of  Mrs  Ras- 
tacq's  dinner  party.  May  we  not,  then,  hope  the 
reader  will  bear  with  us  the  next  few  chapters? 
They  have  their  human  interest ;  and  the  occurrences 
in  them  were  of  absorbing  interest  to  Dorothy. 

But  the  factory  girls,  perhaps  even  the  farmers' 
daughters,  want  idealism.  As  they  will  in  no  wise 

87 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

read  tales  about  themselves — they  are  at  one  with 
our  society  leaders  in  caring  nothing  for  the  million 
— the  life  of  the  eighty  million,  the  real  American 
life,  remains  a  sealed  book ;  at  least  it  would  be,  in 
any  free  library,  an  uncut  one.  Their  novels  must 
deal  exclusively  with  the  Four  Hundred — or  let  us 
at  least  say,  more  generously,  the  four  thousand. 
(We  believe  there  are  about  four  thousand  million 
aires  in  the  United  States ;  and  even  the  factory 
girl  is  intolerant  of  senseless  distinctions ;  one  mil 
lionaire  is  as  good  as  another.)  And  their  key 
must  be  pitched  to  that  idealism  where  the  heroine 
must  always  recline  in  point  lace  and  diamonds,  or 
"  tool  "  a  pair  of  polished  bays ;  the  hero,  corrupt  to 
the  core,  roll  his  cigarettes  in  a  club  window  or  be 
"  opening  "  a  bottle  of  "  wine  " — and  the  factory 
girl  herself  not  enter,  save,  perhaps,  as  that  hero's 
prey,  to  be  cast  aside  like  a  faded  flower  when  his 
caprice  has  ended.  How  vie  with  this  idealism? 
How  compete  with  these  ladies  and  gentlemen  who 
do  the  trick — unknown  authors,  we  have  the  impu 
dence  to  call  those  purveyors  of  literature  to  His 
Majesty,  the  sovereign  people. 

Yet  Austin's  life  was  a  true  one,  and  Dorothy's, 
she  thought,  a  very  real  one;  why  then  the  millions, 
who  after  all  live  truly,  should  they  not  find  it  in 
teresting?  Dorothy  really  lives  and  moves  in  that 

88 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Four  Hundred;  may  not  our  brush  have  color  to 
make  the  reader  credit  it?  It  can  but  paint  the 
facts.  I  do  not  find  upon  my  palette  the  scarlet  of 
a  Corelli,  a  Ouida's  mauve  and  rose,  even  the  splen 
did  primary  tints  so  thick  laid  on  by  those  bright 
geniuses  above  referred  to — whose  names  I  durst 
not  mention  even  if  I  could  remember.  Let  us  then 
dare  to  be  plain — even  if  we  forego  our  cream-col 
ored  (sic)  bays,  our  diamonds  at  breakfast. 

For  Dorothy — more  easily  than  she  hoped — 
had  found  her  footing.  Birth  in  America  will  do 
as  much  as  elsewhere — even  in  money-making  New 
York  it  has  its  influence.  The  Somerses  were  peo 
ple  of  established  social  relations ;  the  Austins,  still 
more  the  Pinckneys,  were  families  whose  history 
"  bore  "  (as  one  would  say  in  heraldry)  that  of  the 
United  States  themselves — or  shall  we  say  itself? 
All  our  history  has  thus  far  turned  on  the  conflict 
of  those  two  meanings ;  and  if  the  Pinckneys,  aristo 
crats  of  South  Carolina,  had  stood  historically  for 
the  former,  the  Austins,  Federalists  of  Massachu 
setts,  had  wrought  for  the  latter  reading — and  pre 
vailed.  They  had  numbered  a  Signer,  an  Envoy,  a 
Secretary  of  State,  a  Senator,  a  Governor — until 
the  present  John,  Pinckney's  double  cousin,  who 
was  only  a  pillar  of  Newport  society.  As  such  he 
had,  by  the  very  inventor  of  the  famous  Four  Hun- 
7  89 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dred,  a  planter  at  Goose  Creek,  been  referred  to  as 
"  coming  from  a  middle-class  family  " !  Oh,  these 
South  Carolinians !  But  it  did  John  Austin  lots  of 
good;  was,  in  fact,  the  cause  of  his  leaving  Nahant. 
Pinckney's  father,  to  be  sure  (no  one  now  quite 
knew  why),  with  all  the  family's  ability,  had  been 
but  a  poor  Consul,  accredited  in  his  youth  to 
Carlsruhe,  whence  he  never  stirred.  But  we  wan 
der  from  our  subject,  which  is  Dorothy.  If  the 
Gansevoorts  ignored  her,  the  rival  leaders — Mrs 
Gower,  Mrs  Rastacq — took  her  up.  The  latter  in 
deed,  on  hearing  her  story,  sent  her,  for  the  second 
night  of  the  opera,  her  box,  where  she  bloomed, 
radiant  to  her  very  eyebrows,  before  the  house  of 
Gansevoort  across  the  way. 

And  it  must  have  been  that  this  appearance  at 
the  opera  had  seemed  in  a  way  to  be  an  assumption 
of  court  rank ;  the  newspapers  recognized  her  as 
one  of  the  younger  "  queens  of  society  " ;  her  por 
trait  was  syndicated  to  the  Woman's  section  of  the 
Sunday  newspapers.  She  was  a  "  pretty  person." 
Even  her  husband  was  presentable  and  intelligent. 
And  when  her  visiting  card  appeared,  with  its 
house  address  and  its  "  Fridays "  in  the  lower 
left-hand  corner,  both  were  accepted;  her  after 
noons  were  attended  by  those  whom  our  newspa 
pers  again  would  call  our  best  people — and  indeed 

90 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

you  may  wish  yourself  as  sure  of  the  next  world  as 
they  are  sure  of  this.  Really,  a  flat — even  a  smaller 
house  more  fashionably  situated — would  have  been 
inconvenient.  Dorothy  often  thought  how  different 
it  all  was  from  those  dingy  days  in  Cambridge ;  this 
was  life. 

She  had,  one  Monday  afternoon,  a  curious  re 
minder  of  those  days  in  Cambridge,  though.  It  was 
in  their  second  New  York  winter.  By  that  time  her 
Fridays  had  grown  to  be  sufficient  of  an  institution 
to  be  mentioned  in  those  sometimes  inconvenient 
newspapers ;  and  it  was  on  the  first  of  them,  after 
their  return  from  the  Catskills,  that  he  appeared. 
How  did  he  ever  know  my  day?  she  unimaginatively 
reflected.  Anyway,  he  had  been  clever  enough  to 
note  it ;  and  she  was  undeniably  at  home ;  there  were 
a  dozen  people  there.  But  he  had  not  been  quite 
clever  enough  to  walk  in,  hat  in  hand;  the  drawing- 
room  could  not  have  been  denied  him,  had  he  (she 
hired  a  butler  for  the  day)  had  his  name  announced. 
He  only  sent  up  his  card,  "  Mr  Augustus  Markoff." 
As  it  was,  she  did  not  hesitate  a  moment:  she  was 
(undeniably  to  Mr  Markoff)  "  not  at  home." 

It  mattered  nothing  to  her ;  little  more,  perhaps, 
to  Markoff,  though  he  smiled  a  bit  grimly  in  his 
mustache  as  he  walked  back  to  Fifth  Avenue ;  she  was 
only  making  her  way,  he,  not  without  approval,  rec- 

91 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ognized,  esteeming  her  on  that  account  no  less  de 
sirable;  their  paths  would  cross  fast  enough;  how 
little,  after  all,  she  knew!  For  he  was  making  his 
way,  too. 

It  mattered  more,  perhaps,  to  our  hero — and 
yet,  that  night,  when  they  talked  over  the  events  of 
the  day,  she  felt  as  if  she  could  hardly  tell  him. 
Bolting  it,  at  last  she  did,  feeling  her  temples  red 
den  ;  Austin,  however,  did  not  notice  the  blush. 
"  Oh,  yes — I  remember — you  did  not  like  him  at  the 
end,  in  Cambridge — he  has  added  the  '  us  '  in  New 
York,"  said  he,  in  amused  inspection  of  the  other 
wise  faultless  card.  For  it  was  small,  quite  white, 
and  not  shiny ;  it  even  had  no  period  after  the  name, 
which  is  the  ultimate  earmark  of  a  smart  pasteboard. 
And  so,  as  it  happened,  Dorothy  forgot  this  inci 
dent. 

And  then,  in  the  evening,  they  went  to  a  dinner, 
where  Dorothy  wore — but  really  one  can't  be  always 
describing  her  gowns !  It  was  a  very  grand  dinner, 
though  I  fear  there  was  no  Roman  punch  in  the  mid 
dle  of  it.  Per  contra,  there  was  terrapin ;  and,  when 
the  ladies  were  alone  in  the  drawing-room,  it  took 
four  flunkies  to  serve  them  their  coffee — one  the 
cups,  one  the  coffee,  one  the  cream  and  sugar,  a 
fourth  the  cigarettes — there  is  something  peculiarly 
sensation  about  a  lady's  cigarettes,  particularly 

92 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

when  smoked  with  a  gown  cut  low —  Have  we  not 
now  got  the  necessary  thrill  to  our  readers  of  the 
million? — Dorothy,  too,  was  thrilled. 

But  oh,  our  thoughtful  thousand,  bear  with  us 
and  desert  us  not.  These  are  not  trifles.  The 
doings  of  our  well-to-do  may  neither  be  all  evil 
nor  all  dull.  There  is  a  world  worth  studying 
outside  the  realms  of  Dialect,  contemporary  not 
historical,  whose  lives  even  when  idle  are  not  negli 
gible.  We  make  the  bluff  of  thinking  not ;  our 
magazines  ignore  them ;  our  newspapers  know  bet 
ter.  Suggested  to  the  imagination  of  eighty  mill 
ions,  a  Mrs  Gower  does  not  lead  her  cynic's  life 
in  vain ;  or  even  reckless  Mamie  Rastacq,  copied 
throughout  our  land  in  manners  and  in  aims,  fail 
to  count.  And  the  quiet  wives  and  mothers  count — 
though  it  be  to  fewer.  They  are  never  described 
by  the  syndicates  to  the  middle  West,  nor  are  their 
pictures  sold  upon  Broadway.  And,  lover  and  bride, 
our  Dorothy  counts — though  it  be  to  Austin  Pinck- 
ney  only — for  he  had  married  her,  in  cure  of  her  soul. 

XVII 

SOME  weeks  after    this,  as   Austin    was   sitting 
alone  in  the  little  cell  that  served  as  his  pri 
vate  office,  trying  to  draw  a  railroad  mortgage,  he 

93 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  surprised  to  hear  the  boy  announce  "  Mr  Mark- 
off."  And  that  gentleman  pressed  so  close  upon  the 
heels  of  his  messenger  that  before  Austin  could  re 
cover  from  his  embarrassment  his  old  classmate  was 
in  the  room.  * 

But  if  Austin  was  conscious  of  a  certain  shy 
ness,  Markoff  showed  no  mauvaise  honte — mauvaise 
or  otherwise.  Perhaps  he  did  not  suppose  that 
young  American  wives  burden  their  husbands  with 
all  their  little  social  difficulties.  Or  perhaps  he  as 
sumed  that  such  trifles  should  not  stand  in  the  way 
of  business.  For  he  began  by  saying: 

"  I  have  come  on  a  little  matter  of  business — 
as  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Austin,  rather  belatedly,  re 
suming  his  own. 

Markoff,  with  an  all-embracing  eye,  looked 
around  the  office ;  the  draft  of  the  mortgage  lay 
open  upon  the  desk. 

"  Ah,  I  see  you  are  in  that  Allegheny  Central 
business.  The  fact  is,  the  matter  I  came  about  re 
lates,  in  a  way,  to  that."  Austin  said  nothing,  and 
Markoff  went  on,  as  in  a  burst  of  confidence:  "  You 
see,  I've  got  a  client  who  owns  a  railroad.  It  is  only 
partly  built  as  yet ;  but  it  will  be  quite  necessary  to 
the  Allegheny  Central.  We  have  called  it  the  Alle 
gheny  Pacific.  To  complete  it,  my  client  has  an 

94 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

issue  of  bonds  to  place — fifteen  millions  in  all — of 
which  twelve  million  two  hundred  thousand  or  so 
are  to  be  held  to  meet  prior  underlying  mortgages. 
The  other  twenty-eight  hundred  thousand  are  of 
fered  for  sale.  Austin —  '  and  Markoff  suddenly 
resumed  his  college  manner,  his  hand  on  Pinck- 
ney's  knee — "  I  thought  of  you  at  once.  You've 
got  the  social  connections — I  haven't.  Your  uptown 
connections,  I  mean ;  they're  the  best  for  this  sort 
of  thing." 

Austin  had  risen  instinctively,  so  that  Markoff 
now  stood  facing  him,  his  eye  on  the  other's  scarf- 
pin,  as  he  added,  impressively,  "  the  commission  is 
two  and  a  half  per  cent— to  divide  between  us." 

"  But  I  thought  the  Allegheny  Central  had  its 
Western  connections?"  Austin  did  not  know  just 
what  to  say. 

"  It  has — of  a  kind.     Have  you  got  a  map  ?  " 

"  There  are  maps  in  the  outer  office,"  and  Aus 
tin,  seeing  his  way  of  escape,  led  his  friend  rapidly 
into  the  general  room.  Markoff  took  out  a  long 
lead  pencil  and  laid  the  point  of  it  upon  a  city  on 
the  map ;  then  gently  moved  it  to  the  left,  along  a 
narrow  blank  space  between  two  railroad  lines,  care 
fully  avoiding  any  tracing  on  the  paper. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  here  is  Steam  City — our 
present  Eastern  terminus.  And  here  "  (making  a 

95 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dot)  "  is  Belief ontaine.  And  here  is  the  Belief  on- 
taine  Pacific.  And  here "  (making  another  dot) 
"  is  Chicago." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  extend  to  Chicago  ?  " 

"  Not  perhaps  at  once.  The  present  issue  car 
ries  us  only  to  Bellefontaine.  But  I  don't  mind 
telling  you " — and  again  his  manner  became  con 
fidential — "  we,  that  is,  my  client,  controls  the 
Bellefontaine  Pacific.  You  see  the  strategic  posi 
tion?" 

"  I  can  only  see  that  you  parallel  between  two 
old  established  railroads." 

Markoff  lifted  his  eye  from  the  scarfpin  to  a 
point  in  space  over  Pinckney's  left  shoulder. 

"  That,  perhaps,  is  an  element  in  the  situation. 
Our  bonds  are  to  be  offered  at  ninety-five — one  per 
cent  off  to  bankers,  or  large  investors  who  mean  to 
sell  again,  you  know.  Here  you  can  be  a  little  elas 
tic."  Markoff  made  a  move  as  if  to  return  to  the 
private  office,  but  Pinckney  remained  standing. 

"  Markoff,  I  can't  do  it — I —  I  don't  know  the 
people.  Why  don't  you  go  to  Auerbach?  " 

"  They  haven't  taken  me  into  partnership.  He 
knows  nothing  of  this — it's  all  my  own  affair.  I  can 
give  it  to  whom  I  like.  And  I  thought  at  once  of 
you." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you — but  I  really  can't." 
96 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Markoff's  eye  wavered  to  his  for  a  moment. 
"  The  commission  is  on  the  whole  fifteen  millions." 

"  I  can't,"  said  Austin  decisively.  "  The  Alle 
gheny  Central  is  our  client.  Anyhow,  I'm  not  in 
that  line  of  business.  I'm  a  lawyer — at  least,  I  want 
to  be." 

Markoff  looked  at  him  compassionately.  Then 
he  spoke,  aloud  this  time: 

"  The  Allegheny  Central  had  better  look  after 
itself.  You  know  that  broken-down  fellow  on  the 
street — curbstone  broker,  note  shaver,  I  don't  know 
what  not — Townley,  I  mean?  Ruined  him,  and 
ruined  half  a  dozen  others,  hardly  ten  years  ago. 
Well,  old  fellow,  I  must  be  going.  No  harm  done. 
I'm  glad  to  have  given  you  the  chance,  that's  all." 

"  Of  course,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you 

"  Anyhow,  I'm  glad  they've  got  you  to  draw 
their  mortgage " 

Pinckney  looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  They  haven't  got  another  that'll  foreclose," 
cried  Markoff,  as  he  smilingly  took  his  leave. 

"  Who  was  that  I  heard  talking  Allegheny  Cen 
tral?  "  said  Mr  Gresham,  as  he  came  out  on  his  way 
to  lunch,  buttoning  his  gloves. 

"  Markoff — he  was  at  the  law  school  with  me." 

"  They  say  that  young  man  draws  a  very  good 
mortgage." 

97 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  He  says  there  isn't  one  on  the  Allegheny  Cen 
tral  that  can  be  foreclosed,"  laughed  Pinckney. 

"  Perhaps  that's  what  they  mean,"  said  Mr 
Gresham  gravely.  "What  did  he  want?" 

"  He  offered  to  divide  with  me  a  commission  to 
help  place  some  railroad  bonds." 

"  Come  along  to  lunch."  It  was  the  first  time 
that  Mr  Gresham  had  invited  Austin  to  lunch. 
"  What  were  they  ?  Of  course,  he  didn't  mean  you 
to  tell  me." 

"  The  Allegheny  Pacific ;  new  general  mort 
gage,"  Austin  unhesitatingly  replied.  "  Two  and  a 
half  per  cent  commission,  on  all  the  bonds." 

"  Then  he's  already  divided  the  commission  once 
— with  Tamms.  It  can't  have  been  less  than  five 
per  cent ;  that  would  have  been  robbing  themselves. 
He  divides  with  Tamms ;  and  then  he  divides  but  half 
with  you." 

"With  Tamms?" 

"  Tamms  is  his  client,  of  course.  He  got  up  this 
Allegheny  Pacific  scheme.  He's  been  trying  to  get 
back  into  Allegheny  Central  ever  since  they  ousted 
him.  He  had  to  go  to  Canada  for  some  years.  It 
was  he  who  drew  those  mortgages  your  friend  refers 
to.  And  what  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  refused  it,"  said  Austin.  "  I  didn't  think  it 
was  law  business.  Was  I  right?  " 

98 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  According  to  the  old  school,"  smiled  Mr 
Gresham.  Mr  Gresham  was  the  Nestor  of  the  bar; 
no  man  stood  higher.  He  rarely  appeared  save  in 
the  highest  courts,  as  senior  to  a  retinue  of  other 
lawyers;  and  then  his  appearance,  though  terrify 
ing,  was  yet  hailed  by  the  other  side  as  a  sort  of 
signal  of  distress.  "  But  it  was  business — from  the 
point  of  view  of — what  did  you  say  his  name  was? 
Markoff.  It  may  have  seemed  good  business  to 
him.  Keep  your  eye  on  him — perhaps  he  meant  to 
be  friendly." 

Austin  walked  home  that  night,  a  little  tired,  to 
find  his  Dorothy  in  a  depression  of  spirits  she  was 
at  no  pains  to  conceal.  The  fact  that  she  was  not 
quite  sure  whether  it  was  a  house  for  the  summer 
or  a  carriage  for  the  winter  that  she  needed  most 
— or  even,  simply,  more  gowns — made  it  none  the 
easier  to  deal  with.  She  could  not  formulate  it  to 
Austin,  and  he  failed  to  discover  the  source  of  her 
trouble.  But  when,  for  the  sake  of  conversation, 
he  told  her  that  Markoff  had  been  to  see  him,  she 
tapped  her  foot  angrily  and  called  that  rising  gen 
tleman  an  impudent  cad.  To  Austin's  surprised 
look  she  added,  "  And  what  did  he  want  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  me  to  sell  some  bonds  on  commis 
sion." 

Somewhat  mollified  the  girl  replied,  "  Oh,  it  was 
99 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

business."  And  something  in  her  tone  was  so  like 
that  of  Mr  Markoff's  that  Austin  looked  at  her 
again. 

"  I  mean  "  — (she  was  rather  confused;  her  pride 
had  always  stood  in  the  way  of  confessing  that  Cam 
bridge  scene) — "  I  mean,  would  there  have  been 
much  profit  in  it,  Austin?  " 

"  He  calculated  it  at  three  hundred  and  sev 
enty-five  thousand  dollars,"  laughed  the  young  hus 
band,  "  for  the  two  of  us." 

"  Oh,  Austin  !  " 

"  But  it  was  not  a  lawyer's  business.  Moreover, 
I  had  my  doubts  about  the  bonds." 

Dorothy  made  a  pretty  little  grimace.  Then  she 
rumpled  his  hair.  "  You  dear  old  fellow,"  she  said. 
"  You'll  never  get  on.  So  you  sent  him  away  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  you  have  had  me?  You  sent  him 
away  first,"  laughed  Austin.  "  For  a  Jew,  he  be 
trayed  a  most  Christian  spirit." 

"  Well,"  said  Dorothy,  "  under  those  circum 
stances  I  should  have  asked  him  to  call." 

"  Do  you  want  me  to?  " 

"  N-no,"  said  Dorothy.  "  He  will  come  again 
fast  enough.  At  least,  he  will  when  I  want  him." 

But  Mr  Markoff  did  not  call  again  that  winter. 


100 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XVIII 

THERE  had  been  something  petulant  in  Doro 
thy's  tones  as  she  made  her  last  remark,  and 
Austin  took  up  the  evening  paper.  There  had  often 
been  a  petulance,  a  sense  of  suppressed  irritation, 
in  her  tones  of  late,  and  he  had  tried  in  vain  to  find 
of  what  he  was  guilty.  He  had  not,  perhaps,  given 
her  a  carriage,  or  a  country  house — no,  it  could  be 
nothing  so  crude  as  that ;  yet,  he  felt  sure,  when  a 
young  wife  was  out  of  humor  it  must  be  a  matter 
for  the  husband  to  cure. 

Old  Major  Brandon  had  met  him  at  the  club  a 
day  or  two  before,  and  had  not  inquired  about  his 
wife,  as  was  his  wont.  But  he  had  done  a  thing 
which  struck  Austin  as,  for  him,  in  most  inexplicable 
bad  taste.  "  Any  babies  yet  ?  "  he  had  asked  bru 
tally.  It  was  true,  he  had  been  away  for  a  year. 
And  no  one  else  was  present. 

Austin  had  laughingly  replied — the  only  way 
possible  to  lighten  the  speech  to  common  courtesy 
— but  the  old  man  had  showed  no  compunction. 

"  Too  many  gowns — too  many  gowns,"  he  grum 
bled.  "  In  the  natural  marriage,  the  woman  brought 
no  gowns — you  knocked  her  down  with  a  club.  But 
in  due  course  of  time  she  had  a  baby."  The 

101 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Major's    approval    of    primitive   marriage    was    well 
known. 

"  And  when  the  man  had  beaten  her  black  and 
blue  and  she  had  worn  out  herself  and  lost  her  come 
liness  in  his  service,  he'd  want  another  wife,"  laughed 
Austin.  "  Was  it  better  for  her  to  be  a  mother  once 
and  a  drudge  forever  after?  " 

"  Call  her  his  slave  if  you  like,  the  natural  woman 
loves  slavery — her  very  virtues  and  vices  are  those 
of  a  slave — fidelity,  endurance,  devotion,  love  of 
ornament,  jealousy,  hatred  of  other  women — the 
error  began  when  man  first  made  a  slave  into  his 
ideal —  She?  She  was  happy  enough.  There  was 
once  a  woman  who  lived  her  first  eighteen  years  in 
the  harem  of  the  Sultan  of  Zanzibar ;  then  she  es 
caped,  with  a  boat's  crew  of  sailors,  and  married  a 
German  supercargo.  She  lived  sixty  years  in  Ber 
lin,  a  German  hausfrau;  then  her  husband  died  and 
she  wrote  a  book  about  it.  She  much  preferred  her 
life  in  the  harem  at  Zanzibar — 

"  Does  that  prove  that  you  would  have  me  treat 
Dorothy  like  a  German  hausfrau?  " 

The  Major  grumbled.  "  All  the  same  it  is  the 
fine  lady  that  will  ultimately  destroy  modern  civiliza 
tion — particularly  in  a  great  democracy  corrupt  in 
money  matters  but  correct  in  morals.  Here's  a  man 
I  want  you  to  know." 

102 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

A  singularly  handsome  man,  looking  like  a 
Ouida's  guardsman  at  nigh  to  fifty,  was  passing  by. 

"  Van  Kull,  this  is  my  young  friend  Charles  Aus 
tin  Pinckney.  You  may  have  heard  of  the  family. 
You  know  his  wife,  I  believe." 

If  the  gentleman  so  waylaid  felt  any  impatience 
at  the  importunity,  nothing  in  his  manner  showed 
it.  His  eyes  rested  but  a  moment  on  the  Major's; 
turning  them  fully  and  openly  upon  Austin's,  he 
held  out  his  hand.  His  face  was  curious  for  a  mix 
ture  of  intense,  almost  feminine  fairness  with  mas 
culine  strength,  and  under  the  gleam  of  a  wonder 
fully  winning  pair  of  blue  eyes  his  long  yellow 
mustaches  were  those  of  the  beau  sabreur's.  "  I  am 
but  just  back,  or  I'd  have  called,"  said  he. 

"  Van  Kull  lives  in  Paris.  Here  he  only  forays," 
the  Major  explained. 

"  My  coupons  are  cut  in  an  office  on  Pine 
Street,"  smiled  Van  Kull. 

"  Who  ever  called  you  dull,  Killian  ?  "  asked  the 
Major. 

"  Dunno — 'bout  every  one,  I  guess."  He  turned 
to  Austin.  "  See  you  at  the  ball  to-night?  It  is  at 
the  Antoine  Rastacq's,  Major " 

"  Didn't  know  you  went  to  balls " 

Out  of  his  sleepy  eyelids  the  younger  man  shot  a 
glance  which  the  Major  bore  with  his  wonted  placid- 

103 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ity.  But  Austin  looked  at  his  watch.  The  remark 
reminded  him  that,  of  course,  his  wife  meant  to  go. 
And  he  was  very  tired.  .  .  . 

She  came  down  to  dinner  in  a  wrapper.  It  had 
never  been  her  habit  to  be  slovenly,  even  before  her 
servants,  and  Austin  was  formally  dressed. 

"  I  am  dreadfully  tired — and  I  must  go  to  that 
ball  to-night " 

"  Why  don't  you  give  it  up  ?  " 

"Mrs  Rastacq's?  I'll  not  go  till  one  o'clock, 
though.  And  I'm  just  going  to  put  myself  in  bed 
and  going  to  sleep."  She  drew  the  soft  wrapper 
about  her  shoulders,  and  Austin  noticed  how  thin 
she  was.  She  had  hardly  eaten  a  morsel.  He  spoke 
of  it. 

"Oh,  am  I?"  Dorothy  sprang  up  and  looked 
at  a  glass.  "  I'm  only  a  hundred  and  thirty  yet. 
They  say  Mrs  Rastacq  has  got  herself  down  to  a 
hundred  and  nineteen." 

"  I  trust  you  don't  think  Mamie  Rastacq  a  good 
model." 

"  Quite — for  the  altogether,"  laughed  Dorothy. 
"  We  weren't  speaking  of  her  character.  Now  I 
must  run  up  and  lie  down ;  don't  you  come  and 
bother  me,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

Austin  betook  himself  into  the  library,  where  he 
104 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

worked  an  hour  or  two ;  then  he  threw  himself  in  an 
easy  chair  and  fell  asleep.  He  awoke,  after  mid 
night,  in  a  strange  sinking  of  spirits ;  the  fire  had 
gone  out,  and  he  was  chilly.  He  took  himself  up 
stairs,  to  go  to  bed,  forgetting  the  ball ;  as  he  passed 
his  wife's  door  he  turned  the  handle;  the  sudden 
glare  of  light  blinded  him.  Dorothy,  in  a  bright 
blaze  of  candles,  was  sitting  before  a  mirror;  only 
her  white  shoulders  were  turned  toward  him,  but 
he  could  see  her  thin  dryad  arms,  and,  in  the  mir 
ror,  an  anxious  face.  Two  maids  were  anxiously 
lacing  her.  She  cried  to  him  to  go  out  and 
dress.  .  .  . 

At  the  ball,  feeling  himself  still  blinking,  Austin 
found  himself  alone  with  his  hostess.  She  looked 
after  his  wife,  who  had  dropped  his  arm  at  their 
very  courtesy ;  he  at  her.  She  was  a  slender,  beauti 
ful  woman — of  the  dangerous  age  one  had  called 
it,  but  that  all  her  ages  had  been  dangerous.  He 
knew  her  because  she  had  been  a  great  friend,  a 
younger  cousin,  indeed,  of  his  great  friends,  the 
John  Havilands ;  and  as  he  looked  at  her,  he  mar 
veled.  His  wife  was  already  dancing  on  the  arm 
of  some  youth,  with  two  more  anxiously  waiting  for 
her  at  the  ballroom  door.  And  while  Austin  was 
wondering,  she  made  a  speech.  (The  next  day,  still 
8  105 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

wondering,  as  they  walked  downtown,  he  asked  John 
Haviland  about  his  wife's  cousin.)  "  Your  wife  is 
quite  the  most  charming  thing  we  have  had  lately  in 
New  York.  Her  man  hasn't  come  yet.  He  always 
comes  late."  This  was  her  speech.  Austin  was  still 
too  new  to  New  York  not  to  start,  for  an  eyelid's 
breath,  at  the  studied  coarseness  of  the  fashionable 
phrase.  Mrs  Rastacq  noticed  it  and  laughed. 

"  How  nice  it  is  to  see  you  care !  But  I  was  only 
chaffing.  Who  can  keep  her,  if  you  can't?  " 

Not  so  dull  as  to  feel  sure  she  was  not  chaffing 
still,  Austin  only  looked  at  her.  Dorothy  had  been 
right.  Tall  and  wonderfully  graceful, 

"  Her  eye  was  like  the  wave  within, 
And  on  her  body,  dainty  thin — " 

she  wore  a  fabric  which,  though  loose,  still  outlined 
close  her  slimness.  She  weighed  no  more  than  Doro 
thy  had  said;  but  not  a  bone  showed  in  the  long, 
white  arms,  the  girlish  neck.  Her  eyes  held  his 
laughingly.  "  Well,  are  you  satisfied  ?  " 

Mamie  was  bon  enfant — all  her  enemies  said  as 
much— and  the  masculine  adjective  suited  her  in 
more  ways  than  one.  She  was  a  good  fellow — men 
said,  a  good  companion.  Even  her  envious  older 
rival,  Mrs  Malgam,  said  that  she  left  her  men  all 
friends. 

106 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Come,  let  us  walk  about.  I  must  show  you  the 
world,  little  boy.  You  are  friend  to  my  good  cousin 
Grace.  She  would  not  come  here  to-night." 

(This  she  said  without  a  trace  of  malice;  and 
Austin  spoke  of  it  when,  on  the  walk,  John  said 
how  they  two  had  fallen  away.  They  were  friends 
still ;  but  Gracie  never  went,  to  meet  her  people,  to 
her  house.) 

"  Is  there  much  for  me  to  learn  in  a  ballroom  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  a  prig.  Perhaps.  Didn't  everything 
that  happened  to  you  that  was  really  important  hap 
pen  to  you  in  a  ballroom  ?  " 

Austin  demurred,  but  she  slipped  her  arm  (they 
were  walking)  from  his  to  his  shoulder,  and,  as  it 
might  have  happened  to  Alice  in  Wonderland,  he 
found  himself  waltzing.  Her  body  was  light  as 
thistledown,  and  occasionally  she  would  draw  back 
her  dark  head,  like  some  beautiful  serpent,  and  show 
him  a  pair  of  eyes  too  lovely  to  sparkle  so  with 
malice.  With  all  her  masculine  ways  he  could  still 
feel  that  it  was  a  woman  that  was  on  his  arm — 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  you  are  not  so  much  of  a 
prig  as  I  thought.  Now  that  you've  not  been  too 
impatient,  we'll  go  look  after  that  wife  of  yours." 

They  paused  a  minute  at  the  doorway  leading 
to  a  conservatory.  The  ballroom  was  a  sea  of  toss 
ing  heads,  of  billows  of  tulle  and  laces,  of  flashing 

107 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

eyes  and  gleaming  shoulders.  The  black  coats  made 
the  necessary  shadow.  "  Almost  every  woman  looks 
happy  when  she's  dancing,"  mused  Mrs  Rastacq. 
Austin  smiled  as  he  remembered  the  Major's  words. 

"  The  dancing  girls  in  a  harem?  " 

"  Perhaps — I'd  like  to  try — think  of  the  Sultan, 
leaning  his  great  bare  back  against  the  furs  of  his 
divan,  looking  lazily  at  us  over  his  nargileh — think 
of  the  fun  of  getting  him  from  the  other  girls !  The 
men  don't,  though."  And  the  dreamy  look  van 
ished  from  Mamie's  eyes  and  the  twinkle  in  them 
returned — they  still  stood  at  the  door — as  she 
looked  them  over.  But  two  or  three  expressions 
lay  in  all  the  men's  faces — fatuity,  anxiety,  or  grim 
determination.  "  Now  a  man  who  could  look  as  a 
woman  does  when  he  dances  is  the  man — the  man 
I  should  not  love,"  her  sentence  ended.  Austin 
laughed. 

"  Your  second  thought  is  the  best." 

"  In  a  ballroom — or  just  out  of  it."  They  had 
come  into  the  grateful  gloom  of  the  conservatory. 
Mrs  Rastacq's  conversation  was  both  elusive  and  in 
consequent.  "  There's  your  wife,"  said  she.  "  Now 
you  can  keep  her;  I  must  go." 

"  Let  me  take  you  back,"  a  deep  voice  said  lan 
guidly.  It  was  Killian  Van  Kull's  great  figure  that 
erected  itself  from  the  gloom  and  offered  to  lead 

108 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

their  hostess  away  with  that  assurance  that  forty 
years  had  given  of  the  experience  that  all  his  world 
would  accept  his  lead.  Austin  felt  himself  flush,  as 
his  wife  turned  red. 

"  No,  since  there  are  two,  we'll  leave  you  to 
gether,"  said  Mamie.  "  But  I'll  get  you  another 
girl,"  she  added  to  Austin,  as  she  led  him  away. 
"  You're  a  dear." 

"  My  dear  Mrs  Rastacq " 

"  *  Although  old  enough  to  be  my  mother — 

"  That  wasn't  what  I  was  about  to  say — 


"  But  I'm  your  hostess,  and  if  you  want  to  say 
anything  else,  I  must  get  you  another  girl.  There ! 
Isn't  it  lovely?  You  may  take  your  pick." 

She  meant  the  ballroom  again ;  it  was  at  its 
height  of  animation ;  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  even  the  men  had  waked  up.  The  younger  girls 
had  gone  to  supper,  or  were  sitting  out;  it  was  the 
married  women,  dancing. 

"  Wouldn't  you  think  that  they  en j  oyed  it  even 
more?  Yet  how  many  of  them — respectable  mothers 
of  families  as  they  mostly  are — for  how  many  of 
them,  do  you  think,  Mr  Pinckney " 

The  tone  of  her  voice  had  quite  changed,  and 
Austin  looked  from  the  ballroom  back  to  her. 

"  — For  how  many  of  them  is  there  not,  some 
where  in  the  world,  one  voice — in  the  world,  at  least, 

109 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  space  and  time — one  voice  which,  if  it  called  to 
them,  so  that  they  could  hear  it,  here  and  now,  they 
would  not  leave  the  dance — this  dance,  any  dance — 
children,  husbands,  position — leave  them  here  and 
now — and  cross  the  street  or  cross  the  world  to 
where  that  voice  was  heard?  " 

The  woman's  voice  had  sunken  almost  to  a  whis 
per  and  her  face  was  pale. 

"Have  I  frightened  you?  Well,  get  me  some 
supper.  No,  get  yourself  some.  There  comes  your 
wife  with  her  beau  sabreur — heavens !  what  will  they 
think  if  you're  still  here?  And  he  the  only  man  I 
ever  could  love  who  had  a  large  mustache^-"  Mamie 
was  again  irresistible,  and  Austin  burst  out  laugh 
ing. 

"  But  where  shall  I  see  you  again?  " 

"  You  don't  want  to  see  me  again,  young  man. 
If  it's  my  second  thoughts  that  are  the  best,  my  first 
acquaintance  is.  Then,  I  tell  my  friends  all  my 
truth  and  anything  else  that's  good  for  them  to 
know.  After  that,  my  conscience  is  discharged." 

"  I  can't  imagine  you  without  conscience !  " 

Mrs  Rastacq  darted  a  new  glance  at  him. 
"  Well,  after  supper." 

(Walking  down,  next  day,  Haviland  told  him 
how  poor  Mamie  had  set  her  heart,  at  eighteen,  on 
Charlie  Townley ;  he  turned  out  worthless.  Noth- 

110 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing  scandalous  about  him — at  least  he  was  not  the 
principal  sinner — but  his  old  uncle  lost  his  mind  and 
Charlie  was  ruined.  And  Mamie  still  would  marry 
him,  but  her  parents  would  not  hear  of  it,  and  they 
pleaded  with  her  successfully.  Then  two  or  three 
good  fellows  had  been  in  love  with  her.  But  she 
flung  herself  madly  into  the  world,  until,  at  twenty- 
five,  she  married  old  Rastacq — a  vicious  old  viveur 
of  sixty,  enormously  rich,  but  some  sort  of  a  creole 
or  dago — "  not  even  a  Frenchman,"  said  the  narrow- 
minded  John.  This  time  Grace  had  pleaded  with 
her  even  unto  tears,  but  her  family  had  given  in. 
Rastacq  still  liked  to  give  balls,  but  was  too  old  to 
go  to  them ;  if  he  was  here  to-night,  he  was  some 
where  with  a  pretty  woman,  upstairs.  He  would 
stay  down  long  enough  to  receive  them,  and  then 
the  favored  ones  would  come  and  talk  to  him  in  his 
library.) 

After  supper,  though  it  was  nearly  six,  Dorothy 
would  not  go  home.  Now  she  was  dancing ;  Van 
Kull  appeared  to  have  left  her;  and,  coming  away 
from  her,  Austin  found  his  hostess  standing  fear 
lessly  by  the  strong  light  in  the  main  hall.  And  the 
woman  of  thirty  looked  like  a  maid  of  sixteen. 

"  The  beau  sabreur  not  gone  yet?  I  love  to  see 
my  little  boy  blush." 

Austin  was  angry,  and  threw  himself  into  a 
111 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

chair.  "  Tell  me,  you  that  might  have  been  my 
mother,  how  do  you  keep  so  young  ?  " 

Mamie,  still  standing,  chose  thus  to  punish  him: 
she  bent  from  her  height  until  her  eyes  were  on  a 
level  with  his,  lifting  one  fair  arm  to  lay  her  hand 
lightly  on  his  shoulder,  as,  rudely,  he  still  sat  there. 
Her  gown  fell  loose ;  in  another  woman  it  might 
have  been  an  impropriety ;  but  her  slim  body  was 
like  a  boy's.  So  she  paused  a  moment,  and  might 
have  been  the  statue  of  a  youthful  temptress.  But 
then,  putting  her  face  so  near  his  that  her  breath 
moved  his  hair,  she  whispered  very  softly: 

"  By  having  no  heart  in  it. — And  that's  the  last 
truth  I  shall  tell  you !  "  she  shouted,  as  she  sprang 
back  and  ran  off,  like  a  young  fawn,  to  dismiss  the 
laggards. 

Among  the  last  of  these  was  Dorothy.  They 
came  home  in  the  hired  coupe,  silent;  Austin  still 
vaguely  angry.  Gradually  his  mood  changed;  but 
Dorothy  was  nervous — and  distinctly  cross.  Com 
ing  home,  she  submitted  to  one  kiss,  and  then  dis 
missed  him  at  her  door.  It  was  an  hour  or  two  be 
fore  Austin,  tired  as  he  had  been  at  midnight,  could 
get  to  sleep  again. 


NEW    YORK 


"  She  whispered  very  softly  :  '  By  having  no  heart  in  it !  '  ' 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XIX 

AUSTIN'S  means  did  not  permit  of  a  summer 
house ;  and  it  seems  to  be  an  accepted  fact 
that  New  York  or  its  neighborhood  is  impossible  in 
the  heated  months — at  least — for  ladies.  But  it 
happened  that  Dorothy's  younger  sister  was  about 
her  "  coming  out  " ;  and  so  Mrs  Somers  made  rather 
an  exceptional  summer  present — it  was  a  thousand 
dollars — to  Dorothy,  provided  she  would  take 
"  Daisy "  with  her  and  "  go  where  they  liked." 
Daisy  was  shorter  than  her  sister  and  not  nearly  so 
pretty ;  but  Mrs  Somers  was  of  opinion  that  a  beau 
tiful  elder,  married,  sometimes  makes  the  younger 
"  go."  Whether  it  was  that  poor  Daisy  was  to  shine 
by  Dorothy's  reflected  light,  or  whether  it  could  be 
thought  there  were  men  who,  finding  the  beauty  un- 
disposable,  would  take  the  next  best  thing  in  the 
family,  the  fact  had  fallen  within  range  of  Mrs  Som- 
ers's  observation. 

"They  liked"  Newport;  after  all  (said  Doro- 
they)  it  was  the  only  place  where  you  might  be  sure 
a  debutante  would  meet  no  one  she  ought  not  to ;  and 
Austin,  while  not  recognizing  this  among  the  most 
obvious  virtues  of  that  resort,  assented.  Naturally 
their  thousand  dollars,  even  with  the  other  thousand 

113 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

that  Austin  managed  to  spare,  would  not  have  car 
ried  them  very  far  in  housekeeping ;  but  with  it  they 
managed  to  pass  a  few  months  in  what  were  called 
Clery's  cottages :  Anglicc,  a  boarding  house,  where 
they  had  accommodations  about  as  commodious  as 
are  enjoyed,  anywhere  in  Northern  America,  in  his 
"  Queen  Anne "  cottage  by  the  carpenter  or  the 
plumber.  But  they  were  thus  excused  from  the  duty 
of  making  that  show  which,  Dorothy  deemed,  her 
station  in  life  demanded,  and  no  one  could  expect 
them  to  entertain.  And  Newport  had  the  advantage 
that  Austin  could  easily  get  to  his  wife  of  a  Sunday : 
a  privilege  not  shared  by  many  New  York  men, 
whose  wives  pass  their  summers  on  the  Maine  coast 
with  college  boys  or  detached  attaches — and  which, 
to  the  former  at  least,  does  a  great  deal  of  harm. 

But  Austin  and  his  wife  were  growing  farther 
and  farther  apart.  We  have  not  tried — or,  if  so, 
we  have  not  succeeded — in  keeping  this  from  the 
reader.  The  good  old  Ma j  or  had  seen  it  first,  a  year 
before.  It  had  troubled  him  deeply ;  though  the 
match  had  not  been  of  his  making,  Austin's  mar 
riage  had  been  the  romance  of  his  declining  years ; 
and  the  Major  (who  would  have  thought  it?)  loved 
a  romance.  When  he  had  seen  the  girl,  she  had 
seemed,  to  his  partial  eye  at  least,  beautiful  enough 
for  the  role;  and  she  had  some  of  the  fire,  the  in- 

114 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

trepidity,  that  the  exigencies  of  her  part  demanded. 
Had  a  baby  come  into  the  world,  the  Major  would 
have  claimed,  if  not  paternal,  at  least  avuncular 
honors.  It  was  really  to  escape  the  spectacle  of 
their  coming  estrangement  that  he  had  been  abroad 
that  year — whence  he  had  returned  with  Killian  Van 
Kull.  The  Major  had  never  hitherto  regarded  that 
predatory  sportsman  from  the  domestic  point  of 
view.  He  now  thought  it  necessary  to  warn  his  Dor 
othy — like  any  old  clucking  hen.  "  My  dear,  he  is 
one  of  the  thoroughly  evil  men  I  know — he  is  really 
bad!  "  But  the  only  effect  of  the  Major's  use  of 
this  adjective  (and  it  has  a  humorous  sound)  was  to 
move  his  Dorothy  to  uncontrollable  merriment. 
When  she  recovered  she  intimated,  to  the  Major's 
astonished  ears,  that  she  herself  was  not  a  chicken, 
and  that  he  himself  had  introduced  the  hawk.  As 
for  Daisy  (who  was  by)  she  naturally  yearned  to 
meet  him. 

Then  the  Major  remembered  how,  at  the  end,  he 
had  been  puzzled  by  Dorothy  at  Cambridge.  "  I 
believe  she  was  trying  it  on — on  ME  !  "  he  muttered 
to  himself.  But  as  Dorothy  fell  in  his  estimation  his 
affection  for  Austin  redoubled.  If  only  (thought 
he)  he  would  keep  up  his  wife's  devotion  with  a  club ! 

What  the  Major  felt,  after  all,  does  not  much 
matter.  Nor  perhaps  would  it  so  much  have  mat- 

115 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tered  if  it  were  Dorothy  alone  who  was  (to  say  an 
Irishry)  drifting  apart.  But  the  Major  was  quite 
a  deep  enough  observer  to  see,  and  student  of  human 
nature  profound  enough  to  realize,  how  much  the 
worse  thing  this  was,  that  Austin  was — beginning 
not  to  love  her.  For  the  harm  to  a  fine-natured  man 
comes  not  from  any  wrong  the  woman  he  loves  does 
to  him.  Such  a  soul  as  the  noblest  are,  is  designed 
to  love  but  one.  To  cease  to  love,  in  such  a  man,  is 
almost  such  an  injury  as,  to  a  maid,  is  the  loss  of  her 
virginity.  Or  else,  as  perhaps  Austin  did  (his  mind 
far  too  clear  and  strong  to  juggle  with  him  on  the 
great  facts  of  life),  he  finds  the  truth — that  he  has 
never  loved  at  all;  then  is  his  soul  most  vulnerable 
to  Satan.  He  imputes  to  his  past  action  the  shame 
of  sex ;  grows  hard,  like  a  lost  woman ;  listens  to  the 
Spirit  that  Denies. 

When  Austin  went  to  Newport,  he  did  not  stay 
at  his  wife's  cottage.  To  begin  with,  as  she  pointed 
out,  it  would  be  indecent :  they  must  share  one  room ; 
she  had  only  two  bedrooms  and  a  bath;  and  Daisy 
was  the  sort  of  girl  whose  wrapper  never  would  stay 
buttoned  and  who  was  always  floating  around  the 
apartment  i^ballet  costume.  So  Austin,  perforce, 
would  take  a  room  at  the  Ocean  House,  where,  in 
the  last  years  of  that  hostelry,  he  witnessed  an  ex 
piring  social  phase,  and  watched,  not  without  inter- 

116 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

est,  the  struggles  of  the  few  scattering  families  of 
Cubans  or  Southwesterners  who  came  to  Newport 
thus  to  mingle  in  High  Life — dimly  conscious  now 
that  it  was  limited  to  the  pleasure  of  reading,  in 
their  own  Louisville  or  Denver  newspaper,  below 
the  account,  minutely  detailed,  of  Mrs  Rastacq's 
gown  at  Mrs  Levison-Gower's  dinner,  and  of  Mrs 
Malgam's  every  movement  of  the  day — (and  no 
Western  paper  is  so  poor  or  so  remote  as  to  omit 
its  weekly  column  of  these  doings — ye  gods  of  a 
democracy,  tell  us  why!) — "At  Newport  also  are 
Mr  and  Mrs  Orville  C.  Creamer  and  their  charming 
daughters,  the  well-known  merchant  of  this  city." 
But  the  daughters,  when  back  in  Sioux  City,  knew 
every  one  of  these  ladies  intimately  by  sight,  to  the 
very  knots  in  the  backs  of  their  gowns. 

It  was  the  custom  of  Austin  Pinckney  to  read  his 
business  letters  in  the  morning,  answer  them,  if  pos 
sible,  by  telegraph,  and  then,  after  breakfast,  be 
free  to  give  his  day  to  Dorothy — or  so  much  of  it 
as  she  would  accept.  And  one  lovely  August  morn 
ing  he  was  sitting  in  the  little  old  park  by  the  old 
stone  mill,  reading  a  letter  from  his  senior.  It  was 
to  the  effect  that  they  had  a  client  of  long  standing 
— no  longer,  perhaps,  very  prosperous  or  very 
reputable  (Austin  read  between  the  lines) — that  he 
was  particularly  anxious  about  a  corporation  in 

117 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

which  he  was  largely  interested,  and  that  his  gout, 
"etc."  (Gresham  had  underlined  the  etc.),  would 
really  prevent  his  coming  to  the  city  to  consult  with 
them,  and  he  lived,  for  the  moment,  near  the  Ocean 
House,  "  and  might  be  heard  of  "  there ;  would  not 
Mr  Pinckney,  who  was  on  the  spot,  have  the  kind 
ness  to  consult  with  him?  His  name  was  Mr  Miles 
Breese.  As  Austin  read  this  name,  he  was  conscious 
of  a  slight  shadow  on  the  path  before  him,  causing 
him  to  look  up  from  the  garden  seat  and  see  a  slen 
der  girl,  who  had  just  passed  by;  she  walked  rapidly 
away,  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face,  but  her  gait 
had  an  indescribable  blending  of  youth  and  grace 
and  dignity,  and  any  man,  though  looking  after  her 
shoulders  alone,  would  have  an  indescribably  ac 
quired  conviction  that  she  was  beautiful. 

Austin  turned  back  to  his  letters  and  finished  them. 
Then  he  sat  in  the  shade  and  waited.  The  loveliness 
of  the  hour  and  the  sweet  season  availed  nothing  to 
lighten  his  heart.  Nothing  unusual  and  nothing 
very  agreeable  had  happened  in  the  evening  before 
with  his  wife.  Nothing,  certainly,  to  cause  the 
strange  presentiment — a  suggestion,  not  a  presenti 
ment — that  his  life  was  at  an  end.  He  thought,  with 
a  half  smile,  of  Schopenhauer,  of  his  Presentation — 
presentment— and  his  Will,  "The  Will  to  Life." 
Nothing  had  happened.  But  it  would  have  seemed 

118 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

strange  to  him  had  he  known  that  on  that  very  seat, 
in  that  very  hour  and  season,  almost  to  the  very  day, 
some  forty  years  before,  his  own  father's  will  to 
live  had  ended. 


XX 


COMING  back  to  the  enormous  dreary  dining 
room,  Austin,  conducted  as  a  lonely  male  to 
an  inconspicuous  table  in  the  rear,  was  surprised  at 
a  figure  he  saw  at  a  table  near  by,  covered,  like  his 
own,  with  breakfast  things,  only  near  a  window  and 
not,  as  it  appeared,  reserved  for  men  only.  Surely 
he  could  not  be  mistaken — it  was  Miss  Aylwin. 
What  could  she  be  doing  here! 

Miss  Aylwin  (no  one,  unless  perhaps  it  were  Mr 
Gresham  himself,  knew  her  first  name)  was  a  quiet, 
very  beautiful  young  lady,  still  young,  but  who  for 
ten  years  past  had  been  the  most  trusted  stenog 
rapher,  bookkeeper,  clerk,  in  their  law  office.  It  was 
not  the  custom  to  have  women  stenographers  in 
important  New  York  law  offices ;  but  to  her  the  most 
momentous  documents — foreclosure  suits,  applica 
tions  for  receiverships,  motions  for  injunction — were 
intrusted  for  their  typewriting  and  copying,  in  those 
secret  copy  books  to  which  she  only,  and  the  firm 
members  themselves,  had  access.  Often — in  her 

119 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

locked  desk  if  not  in  her  mind — Miss  Aylwin  kept 
secrets  which  meant  millions  of  loss  or  gain  to  one 
who  prematurely  used  them.  Old  Mr  Gresham  used 
to  assert  that  there  was  no  safer  confidential  clerk 
than  a  good  woman.  He  had  brought  the  girl, 
when  she  was  hardly  twenty,  from  the  little  Hamp 
shire  country  town  where  he  was  born ;  and  intro 
duced  her  to  the  partners  with  only  the  one  word  of 
explanation  that  she  was  a  woman  who  wished  to 
support  two  infirm  parents  and  needed,  for  doing 
this,  a  city  salary.  And  she  had  grown  to  the  place 
so  that  she  now  kept  the  boxes  and  envelopes  of  Mr 
Gresham's  most  confidential  affairs ;  the  bookkeep 
ing,  petty  cash,  and  salaries  were  intrusted  to  her 
as  paymaster.  She  had  gained  the  confidence  of  all ; 
so  much  so  that  the  little  disputes  or  jealousies  of 
the  office  force,  ambitions  for  higher  wages,  claims 
as  to  precedence,  were  by  common  consent  intrusted 
to  her  for  settlement:  so  much  so  that  even  the  more 
frivolous  Radnor  would  admit — though  ascribing  it 
avowedly  to  feminine  lack  of  interest  in  business 
rather  than  to  feminine  discretion  as  to  secrets  in 
trusted  to  her — that  she  was  the  safest  confidential 
clerk  they  had.  But  woe  be  to  the  clerk  or  visitor 
whom  even  Radnor  had  caught  presuming  to  admire 
Miss  Aylwin's  exterior,  presuming  to  comment  on 
her  very  existence!  As  for  the  underlings,  not  one 

120 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  them  but  was  her  devoted  slave.  It  happened 
there  was  no  one  of  an  age  to  be  in  love  with  her; 
between  the  partners  and  the  official  old  bookkeeper 
and  the  managing  clerk  there  was  no  one  until  you 
came  to  the  students  and  the  office  boy — except  in 
deed  the  scrivener  (conveyancing  clerk  they  called 
him),  who,  having  in  vain  laid  his  affections  at  Miss 
Aylwin's  feet,  was  now  making  her  the  confidante  of 
his  more  successful  overtures  to  a  young  lady  of 
his  own  class  in  Orange. 

What  could  she  be  doing  here?  Austin  rose: 
then  some  instinct  or  impulse — he  thought  he  saw 
a  slight  flushing  in  her  averted  face — made  him 
hesitate.  Just  then  the  negro  clattered  down  with 
the  dozen  oval  dishes  that  contained  Austin's  break 
fast,  and  he  availed  himself  of  this  incident  to  cover 
his  retreat.  It  never  for  one  moment  occurred  to 
him  to  question  Miss  Aylwin's  reasons  for  being 
there.  If  the  Ocean  House,  at  Newport,  was  not  a 
natural  sanatorium  for  aged  parents,  it  was  doubt 
less  that  they  were  housed  near  by.  Or,  if  it  did 
not  seem  the  quietest,  or  even  the  safest,  resort  for 
a  young  working  woman  on  her  vacation,  he  doubted 
not  there  was  some  other  natural  cause.  As  far  as 
the  expense  mattered,  he  knew  that  her  salary  was 
ample  to  afford  it.  After  all,  a  lady  of  thirty  might, 
in  America,  go  where  she  liked.  When  he  left  the 
9  121 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

hall  he  was  careful  not  to  meet  her  eye ;  though  he 
could  not  help  noticing  that  she  was  very  prettily, 
quietly  dressed  in  white,  and  had  at  her  waist  a 
bunch  of  very  lovely  roses.  The  next  morning  he 
applauded  himself  for  his  resolution  when  he  saw 
that  she  had  changed  her  seat  to  the  most  distant 
table.  It  was  evident  that  her  desire  was,  by  him, 
to  be  unobserved. 

"  Mr  Miles  Breese  was  to  be  heard  of,"  his  part 
ner's  letter  ran,  "  by  applying  to  the  head  clerk  of 
the  Ocean  House."  So,  coming  out  of  the  breakfast 
room,  he  left  with  that  gentleman  an  envelope  con 
taining  his  card.  Then  he  wrote  his  letters ;  and 
about  noon  betook  himself  to  Clery's  cottages,  where 
Daisy,  still  in  her  dressing  sack,  received  him. 
Dorothy,  she  explained,  had  a  headache  and  was  not 
yet  up.  Austin  had  recently  been  taught  the  lesson 
not  to  disturb  her  at  her  toilet;  so  he  entertained 
himself  and  his  sister-in-law  as  best  he  might  until, 
after  one  o'clock,  Dorothy  came  down.  At  half  past 
one  they  had  a  lunch  engagement  at  a  very  great 
house,  which,  though  of  highest  interest  to  Austin's 
wife,  has  none  for  Austin's  story.  At  three  they 
returned,  finding  Daisy,  who  had  made  a  moue  at 
being  left  behind  alone,  now  radiant  in  the  company 
of  a  social  Personage.  It  was  Mr  Killian  Van  Kull. 
He  had  asked  her,  it  appeared,  to  take  the  ocean 

122 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

drive  with  him;  and  she  looked  to  Dorothy,  it  ap 
peared,  for  a  perfunctory  consent.  To  Austin's 
surprise,  his  wife  did  not  withhold  it ;  he  hardly  saw 
his  way  to  overruling  them  both  in  the  man's  pres 
ence.  There  was  no  time  to  pretend  a  headache; 
the  T-cart,  groom,  and  pair  were  there;  the  best  he 
could  do  was  to  alter  the  plan  to  quieter  Purgatory, 
and  say  that  he  and  his  wife  would  drive  there  too, 
and  bring  the  tea  basket.  The  Personage  took  it 
indifferently,  as  an  old  player  who  has  read  his 
junior's  hand.  Driving  behind  them,  though  already 
not  in  sight,  Austin  tried  his  best  to  speak  to  his 
wife  kindly  and  gravely. 

"  Dorothy,  you  cannot  mean  to  marry  your  sister 
to  Van  Kull — and  I  am  sure  he  does  not  mean  to 
marry  her." 

"  You  need  not  worry  about  Daisy,"  she  answered 
pointedly.  "  Kill  Van  Kull  is  fifty  or  more ;  when 
he  takes  up  a  young  girl  coming  out,  it  makes  her 
reputation." 

"  And  how  much  does  he  leave  her  when  he  is 
through  with  her?  "  But  at  this  Dorothy  was  jus 
tifiably  angry ;  and  their  afternoon  was  not  a  suc 
cess.  Van  Kull  but  set  down  Daisy  at  their  door, 
returning ;  the  child  was  in  a  bad  temper ;  Dorothy's 
headache  grew  intolerable ;  she  begged  him  (they  had 
no  engagement  that  night,  and  her  health  on  such 

123 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

occasions  was  never  good)  to  take  his  dinner  at  the 
Ocean  House.  They  were  going  to  have  tea  and  go 
to  bed  at  eight,  she  averred. 

The  weight  of  hopeless,  irremediable  loneliness 
settled  down  on  Austin's  soul.  It  was  a  relief,  after 
dinner,  as  he  sat  smoking  his  cigar  upon  the  vast 
veranda,  to  have  a  waiter  bring  a  card  to  him:  Mr 
Miles  Breese.  It  had  in  one  corner,  "  Columbian 
Club,"  and  bore  a  delicate  rim  of  mourning.  Aus 
tin  arose  to  greet  its  owner,  who  followed — a  purple- 
veined,  white  mustached  old  man  with  a  foggy  voice 
— close  behind. 

"  Ah,  Mr  Pinckney,  how  are  you,  how  are  you?  " 
said  the  voice.  "  Any  relation  to  the  Pinckney s  of 
South  Carolina?  Father?  Indeed.  Have  heard  of 
him,  have  heard  of  him — threw  his  life  away — threw 
his  life  away.  Well,  some  of  us  haven't  done  much 
better  with  ours ;  had  a  good  time  though,  heh !  heh ! 
Be  virtuous  and  you  won't  even  be  happy,  my  experi 
ence.  Well,  well — Mr.  Gresham,  who  has  been  kind 
enough  to  act  as  my  man-of-business —  Have  a 
drink?" 

Austin,  who  wondered  that  Mr  Gresham  could 
stand  being  referred  to  in  that  capacity,  declined. 

"  Well,  well — I'm  a  Marylander  myself,  and  I 
find —  Waiter ! —  Nothing  so  good  to  talk  busi 
ness  on  as  a  little  old  Baltimore  rye —  Where  was 

124 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

I?  Oh,  yes.  Your  Mr  Gresham  has  been  kind 
enough  to  look  after  my  money  matters —  Neces 
sary,  eh?  in  these  days —  Our  fortunes  not  what 
they  used  to  be,  we  old  families —  An  honest  law 
yer's  the  noblest  work,  as  I  say,  of  man!  ha,  ha! 
And  your  firm  breeds  'em,  by  gad !  I  never  ought 
to  have  left  them.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a  man 
named  Tamms  ?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  Austin,  somewhat  startled. 

"Or  Markoff?" 

"  I  have,"  said  Austin,  still  more  startled. 

"  Clean-cut  young  fellow — Harvard  man,  he 
says.  Never  had  the  advantage  of  a  college  educa 
tion  myself.  Didn't  care  much  for  such  things  in 
the  South  before  the  war.  Well,  some  of  the  fellows 
up  at  the  club  got  to  saying  you  ought  to  tie  up  to 
some  pushing  firm ;  railroad  men,  you  know,  put  you 
up  to  things — make  their  fortune  and  yours,  too — 
I  don't  mean  points,  but  the  real  ground  floor.  You 
take  the  profit,  and  the  other  fellow  keeps  the  stuff, 
you  understand.  And  Markoff's  sure  to  give  me 
the  straight  tip,  for  he  counts  on  me  to  put  him  up 
for  the  Columbian.  Ever  hear  of  the  Allegheny 
Pacific?" 

"  Very  lately,"  said  Austin. 

"  Well,  he   got  me  an   underwriting   interest   in 
their  bonds  and  they  haven't  gone  up  as  we  expected. 

125 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

But  he  says  they're  all  right,  and  it's  not  so  much 
that  as  Allegheny  Central — 

"Allegheny  Central?" 

"  Old  Baltimore  property,  you  know.  Stock's 
an  heirloom  in  our  best  families — they  never  sell. 
But  now  Markoff — no,  Tamms,  it  is — says  it's  going 
down.  And  I  may  say  my  whole  fortune's  in  it. 
After  all,  the  safest  investment  is  the  money  you've 
spent !  "  And  Mr  Breese  buried  his  red  face  in  a 
goblet.  "  In  these  times  it's  safer  to  eat  your  cake 
than  keep  it." 

"  But  we — Mr  Gresham —  "  Austin  began. 

"  Well,  it's  not  only,  you  see,  that  I've  got  to 
raise  some  money  to  take  up  these  bonds,  but,  if 
Markoff's  right,  he's  very  kind  to  let  me  have  the 
tip  and  get  out  of  the  Central  stock  before  the  others. 
And  to  raise  all  the  money  I  need — my  daughter's 
stock,  Gresham  insisted,  should  be  put  in  trust — 
very  natural,  very  proper — but  he's  my  co-trustee." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Austin. 

"  She's  with  me  now  at  the  hotel —  Gad,  there's 
that  girl  again.  Why,  do  you  know  her?  " 

It  was  Miss  Aylwin,  who,  passing  by  them  at 
the  main  door  of  the  hotel — and  they  say  it  is  not 
safe  for  the  management  of  such  a  caravansary  to 
permit  of  other  entrances  than  the  one  front  door — 
had,  in  seeing  Austin,  too  obviously  turned  her  face 

126 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

away.  This  time  she  was  dressed  in  a  very  becoming 
though  modest  evening  gown ;  and  another  bunch  of 
roses  was  at  her  breast.  Austin  would  not  lie ;  but, 
fortunately,  on  his  keeping  silent,  Breese  assumed  a 
negative. 

"  I'd  like  to  be  the  lucky  dog  who  sends  her  those 
flowers  every  day,"  and  the  old  man,  with  an  alert 
ness  not  to  be  expected  from  one  of  his  years,  made 
after  her  to  the  door,  whence,  after  a  fruitless  glance 
down  either  hall,  he  returned  with  a  sigh  to  order 
another  whisky  and  soda. 

"  She  comes  here  every  summer  for  two  weeks. 
The  clerk  tells  me  she  is  perfectly  straight,  and  no 
one  can  find  out  anything  about  her.  And  she 
always  has  those  flowers —  Eh !  " 

Mr  Breese  started  as  a  large,  handsome  figure 
emerged  from  the  doorway  he  had  just  left.  Again 
he  rose,  and  this  time  Austin  heard  a  hurried  col 
loquy  between  them,  the  lady's  tones  the  loudest. 
Then  he  came  back,  but  made  no  offer  to  present  him 
to  the  lady,  though  Austin  could  see,  from  the  trem 
bling  of  the  diamond  necklace  that  lay  in  her  sump 
tuous  figure,  that  she  was  offended. 

"  It  is — er — Mrs  Beaumont,"  said  Mr  Breese. 
"  She  does  not  live  in  the  hotel,  and  I  must  escort 
her  back — she  was  making  a  call  on  a  friend.  After 
all,  I  think  we  had  finished  our  little  talk." 

127 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  think  we  had,"  said  Austin  dryly. 

"  Glad  to  meet  you  any  time — in  a  social 
way 

For  one  so  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  Mr 
Breese  got  himself  off  rather  awkwardly.  The 
woman  seemed  nearly  fifty,  and  was  rouged  and 
powdered.  Austin  watched  the  old  man  lay,  with 
shaking  fingers,  a  lace  scarf  around  her  monstrous 
bust,  and  then,  as  they  got  to  the  darkness  of  the 
sidewalk,  give  her  his  arm  and  march  her  hurriedly 
away.  His  own  opinion  of  this  latest  specimen  of 
the  firm's  clients  was  not  free  of  some  disgust. 


XXI 

THE  following  Sunday  Austin  did  not  get  to 
Newport;  he  had  to  make  a  trip  to  a  New 
Hampshire  manufacturing  village ;  and  then,  early 
in  September,  he  had  to  make  a  longer  journey,  on 
the  affair  of  a  South  Carolina  railroad.  Both  ex 
periences  left  a  lasting  impression.  Nauchester, 
with  its  twenty  mills  and  twenty  thousand  mill  girls 
— a  life  gregarious,  immodest — not,  perhaps,  im 
moral,  but  what  was  the  sense  of  maidenly  reserve  in 
a  hive  of  mill  boarding  houses,  where  twenty  thou 
sand  healthy  young  women  thronged  the  streets  of 

128 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  city  with  hardly  as  many  score  of  men?  To  be 
sure,  many  of  the  girls  were  French  Canadian ;  but 
many  were  American,  girls  from  the  hill  towns  in  the 
neighborhood;  and  these,  of  all,  were  the  loudest 
spoken,  he  observed,  when  he  had  the  curiosity  to 
visit,  in  the  evening,  one  of  the  saloons  they  most 
frequented.  The  ten  hours  in  the  mill  did  not  seem 
to  have  exhausted  their  vitality.  The  few  other 
young  men  in  the  place,  addressed  by  their  nick 
names  and  the  subject  of  continual  chaff,  seemed 
cowed.  They,  the  girls,  were  only  eating  ice  cream, 
to  be  sure;  though  a  couple  of  the  boldest  accosted 
him,  wanting  to  know  whether  he  would  "  shout  " 
for  "  steins." 

To  Pinckney,  a  South  Carolinian  born  with  all 
a  Jeffersonian's  hatred  of  factory  civilization,  it  all 
was  horrible ;  the  herded  life,  the  miscegenation,  as  it 
were,  of  all  personality,  though  all  of  one  sex,  seemed, 
to  a  born  individualist,  poisonous  to  the  soul.  Yet 
it  may  be  doubted  if  the  tariff  only  deserved  the  curse 
he  mentally  invoked  upon  it.  The  lonely  social  life 
of  the  agricultural  New  Hampshire  town,  unbraced, 
unguarded  even  by  a  Nauchester  public  opinion,  had 
reached,  perhaps,  a  baser  domestic  level.  Nor,  if  we 
may  trust  Thomas  Hardy's  account  of  rural  English 
Wessex,  are  things  much  better  there.  And  in  driv 
ing,  on  that  afternoon,  to  the  remote  mountain  water 

129 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

power  where  the  mill  lay  to  which  his  business  called 
him  (a  pretty  white-painted  hamlet,  nestling  amid 
green  hills,  with  a  sparkling  white  waterfall  in  the 
ferny  gorge  at  its  knees),  he  had  been  horrified  at 
the  information  volunteered  by  the  beardless  young 
philosopher  who  drove  his  buggy.  "  Millsted,"  he 
had  said,  "  is  a  good  town ;  but  in  this  place  not  a 
single  girl  is  straight."  For  the  life  of  him,  Austin 
could  not  resist  the  question,  Why?  but  the  eighteen- 
year-old  youth  only  shook  his  head.  "  Dunno,"  he 
answered,  biting  the  rank  cigar  between  his  teeth. 
"  In  Millsted,  they's  mostly  Catholic ;  here  they're  all 
American.  There  ain't  no  church  nor  justice,  and 
so  the  fellows  won't  marry.  You  see  it's  boarded 
up."  And  the  lad  pointed  to  a  dignified  old  white 
church  that  crowned  the  hill  they  were  descend 
ing;  the  gilding  was  worn  off  the  little  belfry  dome 
and  a  rude  unpainted  planking  nailed  across  the 
doors. 

Pinckney  had  passed  the  Sunday  following  again 
at  Newport,  hardly  with  pleasure  to  himself;  and 
his  wife  had  received  with  indifference  the  news  that 
he  must  now  be  a  fortnight  in  the  South.  And  there, 
what  a  difference !  He  had  the  curiosity  to  visit,  for 
the  first  time,  his  ancestral  estate;  it  lay  in  a  remote 
sea-cotton  country,  the  low  brick  colonnaded  house 
abandoned,  the  Ionic  columns  rotten,  shutters  hang- 

130 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing  loose,  the  gardens  a  wilderness,  the  fish  ponds 
green  with  scum.  It  had  long  since  passed  out  of 
his  family;  but  the  offices,  the  negro  quarters,  were 
fully  inhabited  by  the  negroes,  peasant  proprietors 
now,  healthy,  rather  insolent,  sadly  evident  of  a 
gradual  sinking  back  to  barbarism.  Several  fam 
ilies  living  together,  it  was  hard  to  pick  the  husbands 
and  the  wives ;  and  while  the  daughters  were  not  as 
bold  in  manners  as  the  Nauchester  operatives,  it  was 
obvious  that  their  print  cotton  wrappers  (made  per 
haps  in  Nauchester)  were  worn  for  the  sun's  heat 
and  not  for  modesty.  Only  one  inhabitant — a 
white-headed  old  man  who  could  remember  his  fam 
ily  and  called  him  Mas'r — could  be  called  civilized: 
he  still  had  the  education  and  the  breeding  acquired 
in  slavery ;  and  yet  he  told  Austin  he  would  not  "  go 
back."  No  more,  thought  Pinckney,  would  the  New 
Hampshire  mill  girl  "  go  back  "  to  the  submissive  do- 
mestic-servanthood  of  her  maiden  aunts.  After  all, 
who  would  not  say  that  both  were  right?  It  is  free 
dom  that  humanity  must  be  tried  in :  humanity,  purity, 
virtue  must  prove  their  godhead  anew. 

And  then  he  came  back  North  to  that  civilization 
which  is,  we  suppose,  the  best ;  to  that  city  which  is 
the  summer  abode  of  those  who  are  most  fortunate; 
to  the  wife  that  his  first  youth  had  loved — and  he  was 
ashamed  that  he  was  not  happy.  Now  came  the  time 

131 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  his  own  vacation ;  three  whole  weeks  he  had  with 
her — and  he  felt  ashamed  that  he  did  not  love  her 
more!  Not  that  he  admitted  this  thought:  he  loved 
her,  of  course ;  more  so,  almost,  when  she  seemed  in 
different  to  him ;  more  so,  always,  than  she  loved 
him ;  yet  Austin  did  not  deceive  himself,  he  did  not 
love  her  as  he  should.  He  had  always  been  of  opin 
ion  that  a  man  was  a  poor  cur  who  could  not  continue 
to  love  the  woman  he  had  made  his  wife ;  it  was  no 
excuse  that  her  love  for  him  was  waning;  the  man 
was  blameworthy  in  that  he  let  it  wane.  And  here 
was  he,  deficient  in  his  own  poor  code ! 

It  is  true  that  the  presence  of  her  curious  sister 
made  it  difficult  to  be  expansive.  And  Dorothy  per 
sistently  resisted  his  suggestion  that  Daisy  might 
well  now  rejoin  Mrs  Somers,  who  was  taking  her  to 
the  Riviera  for  the  winter,  so  that  there  was  plenty 
for  her  to  do  at  home.  Killian  Van  Kull  was  still 
an  assiduous  visitor;  but  Dorothy  seemed  now  con 
vinced  that  her  sister  could  have  no  expectations  in 
that  quarter.  Meantime,  it  seemed  almost  as  if  she 
used  her  as  a  screen — to  keep  him  off.  For  Austin 
was  with  them  in  the  cottage  now — he  could  not  well 
have  stayed  three  weeks  at  the  hotel  without  their 
separation  exciting  comment — and  her  indifference 
to  him  was  the  more  obvious  that  she  had  her  mo 
ments  of  passionate  surrender.  She  was  apt  to  be 

132 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

angry,  almost  repentant,  after  these,  as  if  she  had 
committed  a  wrong.  He  fancied  she  had  a  horror 
of  maternity. 

He  could  see,  in  other  men's  eyes,  a  horrible 
simulacrum  of  the  spell  she  once  had  wrought  with 
him.  She  was  very  different,  dressed,  and  away 
from  home.  She  was  radiant,  dazzling,  on  grand 
occasions — Mrs  Rastacq's  dinners,  Mrs  Gower's  bal 
poudre,  Jimmy  de  Witt's  theatricals.  Austin  would 
sit  opposite  her  and  admit — intellectually — her 
charm.  It  was  greater  even  than  when  he  married 
her.  Her  charm  had  never  been  the  attraction  of 
the  ingenue.  As  a  maid  she  had  been  languid,  awk 
ward  ;  but  as  a  married  girl  her  pallid  beauty  had 
the  salt,  the  piquancy  of  a  Marguerite — Gautier. 
It  seemed  to  have  a  conscious  malice:  it  was  the  eye 
that  knew,  the  lips  that  hinted  kisses.  Men  went 
crazy — men  like  Van  Kull  in  particular — crazy 
about  her.  She  was  tingling  with  her  successes, 
and  did  not  half  know  why.  In  truth  she  was  far 
more  innocent  than  she  seemed  to  them.  And  she 
had — as  they  would  find  if  they  ventured — a  certain 
physical  daintiness,  an  ermine-like  shrinking  from 
dirt — that  might  serve  as  well  as  modesty :  rather  a 
purity  of  body  than  of  mind. 

Morbidly,  he  studied  her  effect  on  other  men — 
that  physical  beauty  which  no  longer  moved  him. 

133 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

God!  was  this  all  his  love  had  been?  He  watched 
her  one  night — it  was  at  Mrs  Gower's  bal  poudre — 
she  was  leaning,  in  a  white  brocade  with  small  pale 
roses  for  a  pattern,  against  a  white  pillar,  her  hair 
powdered  white,  yet  none  of  all  so  white  as  her  white 
skin,  shown  boldly  against  the  white  gown  and  the 
pale  roses  at  her  breast.  Her  little  white  slipper 
was  tapping  impatiently  below  her  rose-silk  ankle, 
and  Van  Kull  was  standing  behind  her.  She  had 
realized  her  ambition  of  being  thin ;  and  as  Austin 
watched  her,  she  bent  her  head;  Van  Kull  looked  at 
her.  Puh!  Had  he,  Austin  Pinckney,  ever  looked 
like  that?  At  her?  At  Mrs  Rastacq,  perhaps,  that 
other  night.  Was  his  moral  nature  sinking?  Was 
he  but  an  animal,  after  all — unhappy,  now  that  he 
had  lost  a  mate?  No,  animals  were  true  to  their 
mates. 

And  Pinckney  vowed  to  be  true  to  her  ;  and  turned 
away,  too  proud  to  watch  his  wife,  now  that  he  was 
conscious  he  was  doing  it.  He  was  far  too  proud 
to  have  any  doubt  of  her  mere  fidelity.  The  Pinck 
ney  men  were  not  in  the  habit  of  doubting  their 
wives,  and  had  seldom  suffered  for  it.  No,  he  felt 
it  was  himself  that  was  at  fault. 

At  four  in  the  morning  a  footman  found  him 
and  asked  if  he  were  Mr  Pinckney?  Madame  had 
sent  to  find  him.  He  followed.  Dorothy  was  alone 

134 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  a  room  opening  into  a  tent  upon  the  lawn ;  she 
looked  nervous,  almost  as  if  she  had  been  crying,  and 
begged  to  go  home!  In  the  carriage  she  let  him 
kiss  her.  And  Austin  prayed,  that  night,  that  he 
might — that  they  might — win  their  love  again. 


XXII 

THE  summer  had  not  done  much  for  Dorothy's 
health ;  she  complained  of  being  physically 
tired,  and  Austin  volunteered  to  go  home  and  open 
the  house  for  her  while  she  rested  another  week  at 
Newport.  He  took  Daisy  on  with  him  so  that  Doro 
thy  for  one  week  might  be  quite  alone,  as  she  had 
said  she  needed.  He  put  his  sister-in-law  on  the 
Pennsylvania  train ;  and  then  set  about  getting 
servants  for  the  empty  house.  For  Dorothy,  who 
was  saving  in  such  ways,  had  dismissed  them  all  when 
she  closed  the  house  for  the  summer.  He  made  quite 
a  fete  of  getting  the  house  ready,  seeing  that  every 
thing  was  swept  and  garnished,  buying  even  some 
articles  of  old  furniture  that  Dorothy  had  coveted 
in  the  windows  of  a  shop  on  University  Place.  And 
when  she  arrived,  one  bright  afternoon  in  early  Octo 
ber,  the  house  was  spick  and  span  and  full  of  flow 
ers.  "  It  is  good  to  be  home,"  she  said,  and  began 

135 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

opening  the  pile  of  letters  that  lay  on  her  dressing 
table.  There  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  of  inter 
est  in  them,  for  her  spirits  visibly  fell.  Austin  pro 
posed  the  theatre  for  the  evening,  but  Dorothy  was 
too  tired. 

The  next  day  Austin  had  to  make  up  for  lost 
time  at  the  office.  The  affairs  of  the  Allegheny  Cen 
tral  had  come  to  the  firm  from  another  source  than 
Mr  Breese,  and  Austin  was  trying  hard  to  find  out 
what  was  really  doing  in  that  property.  It  was 
known  that  Phineas  Tamms  had  acquired  possession 
of  a  narrow-gauge  line  in  eastern  Ohio,  running  from 
Belief ontaine  to  the  great  trunk  line,  which  he  had 
now  grandiloquently  entitled  the  Allegheny  Pacific, 
and  was  said  to  be  changing  its  gauge ;  it  was  sur 
mised  that  he  desired  to  lease  it  to  the  Central,  but 
he  had  no  interest  in  the  latter  road,  and,  meantime, 
its  stock  still  went  down,  down.  True,  the  inspired 
financial  papers  that  had  advertised  its  bonds  had 
pointed  out  that  by  constructing  the  Bellefontaine 
spur  westward  to  a  point  where  it  met  again  the 
Allegheny  Central  on  its  northward  curve,  it  might 
become  part  of  a  shorter  line  than  any  now  existing 
between  Baltimore  and  Chicago ;  but  (as  Mr  Radnor 
said  to  their  greatest  client,  Levison  Gower,  the  rail 
road  millionaire)  "  a  fellow  who  had  found  a  bung- 
hole  might  as  well  say,  *  Come,  let's  build  a  barrel 

136 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

round  it.'  Allegheny  Central  is  good  enough  for 
me."  But  "  Lucie "  Gower,  who  had  an  excellent 
head  and  whose  judgment  was  taken  in  Wall  Street 
with  a  respect  that  would  have  astonished  the  friends 
of  his  early  days  uptown,  said  again  he  didn't  like 
it.  "  It  had  a  kind  of  falling  sickness."  His  own 
vast  fortune  was  in  the  New  York  railroads,  but  his 
wife,  through  her  old  ownership  of  Starbuck  Oil, 
had  been  always  one  of  its  largest  stockholders.  Yet 
very  little  was  known  of  the  real  control ;  presumably 
it  still  rested  in  Baltimore,  the  birthplace  of  the  vast 
enterprise. 

Austin  was  still  thinking  of  these  things,  and  had 
just  dismissed  with  a  smile  to  his  tired  self  the 
thought  of  asking  direct  of  his  old  friend  Markoff, 
when  his  wife  met  him  at  the  door.  Her  animation 
had  all  returned.  "  See,"  she  said,  holding  up  a 
telegram.  "  An  invitation  from  Mrs  Gower  to  spend 
two  weeks  at  Lenox."  It  ran: 

"  Can  you  and  Mr  Pinckney  come  up  for  two 
weeks?  Private  car  leaves  Grand  Central  at  four 
on  Friday!  Do  come,  even  if  he  can  only  take  Sun 
days.  Answer  Flosheim."  Flosheim — the  name  a 
barbaric  compound  of  Flossie  Gower's  own  creation 
— was  her  Lenox  place.  Their  grand  house  was  on 
the  Hudson ;  but  Lucie  had  recently  purchased  a 
small  mountain  in  the  Berkshires  and  given  it  to  his 
10  137 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

wife.  She  had  promptly  taken  out  a  fashionable 
architect  and  a  New  York  landscape  gardener,  where, 
without,  it  would  seem,  a  glance  at  the  surrounding 
scenery,  the  one  had  leveled  it  off  into  plate-bandes 
and  fish  ponds  with  pergolas,  and  the  other  had  con 
structed  a  marble  reproduction  of  Azay-le-Rideau, 
looking  about  as  appropriate  amid  the  shaggy  Ap 
palachian  forests  as  that  smug,  smart,  modern  band 
box  now  planted  amid  the  gray  historic  gothic  of 
West  Point. 

"  Dorothy,  you  are  not  going — so  soon  ?  "  he 
could  not  help  answering.  She  looked  at  him  in 
amazement. 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Why,  Austin,  the  mountain 
air  is  just  what  I  need,  after  Newport.  But  you 
never  want  me  to  have  a  good  time!  And  you  must 
come,  too.  Why,  Austin,  Lucie  Gower  could  make 
your  fortune." 

Austin  looked  as  if  he  did  not  wish  to  have  his 
fortune  made  that  way.  "  I  can't  possibly  come 
this  week — or  any  day  now  but  a  Saturday  to  Mon- 
day " 

"  Come  next  week,  then.  You  see,  Mrs  Gower 
doesn't  mind —  And  Dorothy  went  off  on  the  day 
following. 

They  had  a  belated  hot  spell  that  week,  and  Aus 
tin  worked  each  day  till  his  dinner,  which  he  took, 

138 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

late  and  lonely,  at  the  club.  Sometimes,  for  the 
mere  show  of  company,  he  would  go  to  an  Italian 
restaurant,  where  ladies  also  dined — mostly  artists, 
singers,  newspaper  women — that  world  which  owes  a 
precarious  subsistence  (precarious  in  America)  to 
the  amusement  of  the  rich.  "  Ze  reech  here  in  Amer 
ica  are  hard  to  amuse,"  said  a  leading  lady  from  the 
Odeon,  that  he  met  through  her  physician,  a  friend 
of  his  own.  "  Zey  do  not  know  enough."  For, 
although  the  ladies  of  their  own  world  were,  like 
Austin's,  out  of  town,  at  Tuxedo,  in  the  Berkshires, 
or  "  entertaining  "  in  their  grand  new  places,  their 
men — the  money  getters,  bankers,  lawyers,  brokers, 
all  but  the  most  fashionable  clergymen  or  doctors — 
were  all  now  hard  at  work  in  the  city.  It  was  nat 
ural  to  foregather  with  clever  women.  So  Austin 
would  perhaps  end  the  evening  at  some  roof  garden 
or  smoking  concert.  He  was  too  tired  to  think. 
Nay,  he  did  not  want  to  think.  John  Haviland  tried 
to  interest  him  in  politics,  in  college  settlements,  in 
his  Bowery  clubs,  in  other  wise  civilizing  missions. 
But  Austin  had  recurred  to  his  mood  of  Nauchester 
or  South  Carolina — he  doubted  if  they  had  a  pattern 
to  civilize  up  to.  He  laughingly  told  John  how  his 
old  negroes  had  solved  the  problem  of  "  Civilization 
— its  Cause  and  Cure  " — and  that  the  Nauchester 
mill  girls  were  the  product  of  free  libraries.  As  for 

139 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

his  politics  (John  was  a  Republican),  he  was  a  De- 
march,  not  an  Oligarch.  But  Haviland  knew  there 
was  something  behind  all  this.  He  told  Brandon 
he  was  afraid  that  Austin  was  losing  his  grip ;  and 
the  Major  took  it  testily,  as  he  always  did  any  refer 
ence,  however  indirect,  to  Austin  and  Dorothy's 
affairs. 

In  truth,  our  hero  was  sick  at  heart.  The  world 
held  out,  not  only  no  hope  of  joy — that  perhaps 
were  to  be  borne — but  no  faith  in  human  hearts. 
The  second  week  John,  too,  was  away,  and  he  worked 
the  harder,  interspersing  his  labors  now  and  then 
with  a  dash  to  a  summer  theatre.  He  was  just 
about  up  to  the  ethical  ideals  of  the  American  vaude 
ville,  he  said  to  himself.  One  night  Sammy  Eck 
stein — the  actors'  lawyer,  half  in  society,  half  among 
actresses,  an  odious  beast  he  thought  him — showed 
to  him,  with  a  grin,  a  copy  of  The  Town  Woman; 
it  was  at  the  Bohemian  Club,  where  they  took  that 
paper.  "  Didn't  know  your  wife  was  in  the  Berk- 
shires." 

"  Didn't  know  you  knew  my  wife  at  all."  Aus 
tin  was  tired  and  out  of  temper 

"  Only  as  a  public  character,"  said  Eckstein, 
and  he  tossed  the  paper  to  him.  Austin  read  the 
paragraph  at  a  glance  before  he  crumpled  up  the 
paper  in  the  wastebasket :  "  The  Inseparable  Exclu- 

140 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

svces. — At  Flosheim,  Mr  Arthur  Holyoke  and  Mrs 
*  Baby  '  Malgam ;  Mr  '  Tony  '  Duval  and  Mrs  Ras- 
tacq ;  Mr  '  Kill '  Van  Kull  and  the  new  beauty 
'  Dotty  '  Pinckney.  Mrs  Gower's  unacknowledged 
cousin,  '  Mrs  Beaumont,'  has  to  stay  at  Newport 
with  Mr  Breese." 

It  was  a  simple  piece  of  vulgarism;  but  Austin 
knew  that  the  much-abused  press  is  rarely  vulgarly 
familiar  with  persons  who  do  not  vulgarly  invite  it. 
But  he  had  thought  Dorothy  (no  one  ever  called  her 
"  Dotty,"  by  the  way)  had  meant  to  see  no  more 
of  Van  Kull. 

When  he  came  to  Lenox,  it  was  seven  o'clock;  he 
hardly  expected  to  be  met  at  the  remote  little  station, 
but  there  seemed  to  be  no  public  carriage  there.  In 
stead,  it  was  Mrs  Rastacq  who  called  to  him  from  a 
little  phaeton  and  pair.  "  They've  all  gone  off  for 
the  night,"  she  said.  "  And  you're  to  come  with  me. 
They've  got  you  rooms  at  Curtis's."  Austin,  per 
haps,  looked  puzzled.  "  They've  gone  on  an  all- 
night  trip  to  the  ice  glen  at  Stockbridge.  That  is 
to  say,  they  start  right  after  dinner  and  take  their 
supper  with  them ;  and  Van  Kull  swears  he  means  to 
show  them  the  sunrise.  Anyhow,  you  couldn't  pos 
sibly  get  nine  miles  to  Flosheim  before  they  start, 
and  there's  no  sense  in  your  being  there  alone.  So 
I  said  I'd  take  pity  on  you." 

141 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  But  why  aren't  you  with  them  ?  "  Of  course, 
he  got  in  beside  her. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  play  in  -Flossie  Gower's  menageries. 
Her  hospitality  is  large,  but  I  prefer  my  own  chez- 
moi.  Her  tastes  are  too  Catholic  for  me.  She's  got 
a  Jew  man  with  her.  The  fact  is,  I  don't  like  her. 
She  took  a  lover  from  me  once." 

It  was  more  amusing,  Austin  reflected,  than  a 
roof  garden,  and  he  breathed  deep  of  the  bracing 
mountain  air,  while  the  pretty  woman  beside  him 
handled  cleverly  her  ponies.  "  I've  taken  a  little 
cottage  for  three  weeks,  near  the  hotel,  but  I  dine 
there.  You  can  dine  with  me,  if  you  like.  I  can 
hardly  put  you  up  at  my  cottage."  Austin  has 
tened  to  assure  her  that  such  had  not  been  his  hope. 
"  Well,  I  think  that  Flossie  Gower  hoped  I  would." 

They  stopped  at  her  house,  and  Austin  went  to 
the  hotel,  where,  in  incredibly  few  minutes,  she  re 
appeared  clothed  in  a  simple,  almost  girlish  robe  of 
white,  high  at  the  neck,  a  rose  her  only  ornament. 
"  I  never  like  to  dress  for  dinner  at  a  hotel." 

After  dinner,  Austin  must  go  back  "  to  smoke 
with  her,"  as  she  said.  She,  too,  took  a  cigarette; 
but  otherwise,  in  appearance,  she  might  have  been 
a  simple  college  girl,  only  that,  as  it  grew  cold  in 
the  night,  she  was  less  self-conscious  than  a  college 
girl  would  have  been  of  the  manner  of  holding  her 

142 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

pretty  ankles  to  the  andirons.  But  she  wanted  a 
good  long  talk,  she  said,  and  would  not  let  him  go. 
She  had  told  him  that  she  wanted  to  talk  to  him 
about  his  wife,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  get  upon  this 
subject.  At  midnight  they  went  out  to  see  the  moon 
rise ;  they  walked  once  or  twice  in  the  garden ;  then 
he  must  come  back  to  have  some  Scotch  and  soda. 
After  this  he  rose  again  to  go.  But  she  was  talking 
of  herself ;  and  her  manner  had  become  sad.  "  I 
want  to  tell  you  something  more — of  what  I  told  you 
at  the  ball.  You  have  not  wrecked  your  life,  as  I 
mine."  And  Mamie  looked,  in  the  dim  lamplight, 
eighteen,  as  she  spoke.  "  But  I  cannot  bear  you 
should  think,  as  I  know  you  do,  it  was  Charlie  Town- 
ley.  We  have  been  speaking  of  Lionel  Derwent — 
you  called  his  life  a  noble  one  just  now.  Well,  I 
might  have  shared  it — and  I  let  it  go."  Mamie's 
dark  eyes  were  full  of  tears. 

Any  man  is  moved  at  being  made  the  subject  of 
a  woman's  confidence — touched,  if  it  be  a  sad  one. 
Perhaps  she  meant  him  to  take  her  hand  and  tell  her 
so.  It  lay  passive  in  her  lap.  She  went  on  in  low 
tones.  She  told  him  that  her  husband  and  she  had 
nothing  in  common.  One  o'clock  struck;  two.  She 
had  a  marvelous  charm  of  voice — yes,  of  mind.  It 
was  a  pleasure  to  be  with  her.  After  all,  perhaps, 
pleasure  was  the  only  happiness.  And  as  he  once 

143 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

more  rose  to  go,  she  leaned  forward  slowly,  looked 
up  at  him — and  put  up  her  lips  for  him  to  kiss 
them. 

A  moment  later — after  a  long  silence  and  a  "  for 
give  me  " — Austin  had  flung  from  the  house. 


XXIII 

A  SENSE  of  horror  at  what  he  was  doing  had 
come  over  him,  the  night  before,  ere  even 
the  doing  of  it;  and  now,  in  the  pure  bright  cool 
of  the  morning,  an  unspeakable  sense  of  personal 
degradation.  He  had — what  is  not  so  rare  with 
Americans,  particularly  those  whose  youth,  with 
American  moral  standards,  has  been  further  pro 
tected  by  foreign  conventions — not  only  an  entire 
virginity  of  mind  and  body,  but  an  entire  respect 
for  and  confidence  in  gentlewomen  of  his  class.  To 
him  the  sex  was  divided  into  the  two  clear  fields  of 
black  and  white ;  and  white  was  pure  white,  and  black 
could  be  only  black.  And  yet  the  horrible,  sicken 
ing  remorse  he  felt  was  due  to  no  mere  prudery,  no 
Joseph-like  standard  of  his  own ;  it  would  have  been 
no  greater  had  the  one  kiss  been  followed  by  others ; 
not  the  deed,  but  the  fact  that  he  could  have  done  it, 
now  distressed  him.  No  crystal  font  might  now 

144 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

wash  the  stain  from  his  soul ;  he  would  be  "  unclean 
till  evening,"  aye,  to  the  very  evening  of  his  life. 

He  was  not  a  man  who  was  deluded  when  judg 
ment  of  his  own  self  was  concerned.  Doubtless  she 
had  meant  him  to  kiss  her;  but  doubtless,  also,  he 
might  not  have  done  so.  And  with  that  unhappy 
self -consciousness  that  our  too  much  reading  throws 
over  all  events,  even  to  the  simplest,  greatest  moment 
of  our  lives,  the  surface  thought  too  was  grimly 
present  to  wonder  at  the  difference  he  had  found — 
was  it  in  him  or  her? — in  their  case  from  that  of 
Tristan's  or  of  Paolo's.  Mamie's  kiss  (and  she  had 
kissed  him)  had  been  as  elemental,  as  intoxicating  to 
his  senses  (we  have  said  he  was  a  man)  as  Brunhilde's 
or  as  Iseult's — and  yet  her  very  lips  had  left  on  his 
the  quiver  of  his  own  contempt.  (It  may  have  been 
— who  knows? — this  very  quality  of  his  that  had 
been  to  Mamie  the  perverse  attraction ;  certainly  it 
was  not  commonly  believed  among  her  friends  that 
she  would  go  so  far ;  the  coeur  de  femme,  as  the 
French  novelist  still  calls  it,  is  a  strange  thing.) 
Had  it  been  followed  with  the  consequences  of  an 
Yseult's  or  a  Francesca's — even  of  his  own  when,  that 
day  long  gone,  he  had  kissed  his  wife,  then  the  be 
trothed  of  another — it  would  have  seemed  to  him 
that  morning  no  more  wicked,  only  less  vulgar. 

A  "  bounder  " — even  a  Joseph — might  have  also 
145 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

regretted  the  way  he  had  flung  out  of  the  house. 
This  indeed  would  have  been  the  first  remorse  of  a 
Frenchman.  Even  an  Irishman  poetizes  somewhere 
about  "  the  unkissed  kiss."  Austin  wasted  no  re 
morse  on  this  point ;  if  you  are  bolting  from  a  lady's 
house,  any  way  is  the  best  way.  He  recognized  that 
Mamie  might  think  him  a  fool — might  think  him  a 
cad;  both  positions  he  accepted  with  other  incidents 
of  the  night's  work.  Nor,  in  any  Joseph  Surface's 
way,  did  he  condemn  her.  He  had  let  his  eyes  lin 
ger  on  hers,  he  had  flirted  with  her  at  the  ball,  he  had 
let  her  talk  to  him  of  his  wife — by  all  the  free  lance's 
code  he  had  showed  himself  fair  game.  Moreover 
she  had  given  him  fair  warning.  Her  husband  was 
a  decayed  old  roue  and  she  amused  herself — nay,  it 
were  fairer  to  say  interested  herself — in  life  that 
way.  Many  an  old  man  keeps  himself  young  by  his 
interest  in  young  women ;  why  not  she  by  hers  in 
men  ?  She  was  lonely  enough ;  she  never  pretended 
to  be  better  than  the  average.  Of  course  she  would 
hate  him.  (As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mamie  did  nothing 
of  the  sort;  rather  felt  she  justified  in  her  little  lik 
ing  for  him ;  it  had  begun  with  malice,  ended  in 
liking.  She  was  by  no  means  evil,  though  enjoying 
the  appearance  of  it ;  and  she  loved  him  for  running 
at  her  approach — that  way.  She  now  really  began 
to  love  him  a  little;  there  was  henceforth  a  bit  of 

146 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  maternal  in  it ;  anyhow,  it  is  not  the  love  of  such 
as  Mamie  that  hurts ;  they  do  not  do  their  harm  by 
loving.  As  for  remorse — does  a  woman  ever  feel 
remorse  at  a  kiss,  taken  and  given?  Curious,  all  the 
novelists— women  novelists,  licensed  revealers  of  a 
woman's  heart  and  head,  high  priestesses  of  feminine 
subtlety — have  never  vouchsafed  to  tell  us  such  a 
simple  fact  as  this.  "  La  fcmme  ne  se  revele  pas" 
Mamie  recognized  that  for  the  present  she  must 
avoid  him ;  for  all  the  future,  she  supposed,  he  would 
avoid  her.  She  thought  no  worse  of  him  for  that. 
Rather  was  she  rejoiced  that  she  had  met  with  such 
a  man.  Bon  enfant — was  Mamie;  a  manly  little 
woman.  And  that  foolish,  fire-playing  wife  of  his ! 
Mamie  only  played  with  fire  in  others.  Even  with 
Austin,  it  may  be  surmised,  had  there  been  a  crackle, 
the  wet  blanket  had  been  ready.) 

But  to  Austin's  mind,  as  he  walked,  sick  at  heart, 
all  these  things  were  unknown  or  lightly  touched 
upon.  The  bare,  beast  fact  remained.  He  made  no 
effort  at  sleep ;  an  ice-cold  bath,  a  cigar,  another 
bath  when  he  rose  from  his  lounge  and  dressed,  and 
then  by  sunrise  he  was  in  the  stable  seeking  for  a 
horse  to  carry  him  away. 


147 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XXIV 

NO  Tannhauser  coming  out  upon  the  morning 
mountain  could  have  been  less  intoxicated, 
more  repentant  of  the  night.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
very  autumn  woods,  the  leafy  brown  dells  of  the 
brooks,  the  very  flowers  by  the  wayside,  could  never 
look  the  same  to  him.  Berkshire  was  crimsoned  with 
the  same  glory  that  he  remembered  there,  when  he 
had  brought  his  bride,  four  years  before.  In  what 
altered  heart  was  he  going  to  meet  her  now !  And 
he  remembered  with  a  shudder  the  kiss  that  he  had 
given  her  upon  that  ride.  How  little,  after  all,  his 
kisses  meant !  or  was  it  that  he — Pinckney  repressed 
this  thought,  as  one  drops  a  stone  back  on  the  curl 
ing  worms  of  earth. 

As  he  mounted  the  Taconic  range,  the  green 
Stockbridge  meadows  opened  out  below;  a  healthy 
brown  brook  crawled,  clear  as  smoky  crystal,  at  his 
feet;  a  minute  more  and  he  plunged,  with  the  sense 
of  an  asylum,  into  the  shaggy  forest.  When  he 
came  out,  it  was  upon  the  formal,  conscious  garden 
ing  of  Mrs  Gower's  demesne.  The  dressed-up 
flower  beds,  the  artificial  play  of  water,  the  naked 
little  cupids  on  the  balustrades,  out  of  place  enough 
even  in  that  season,  for  once  seemed  less  intolerant 

148 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  his  mood ;  so  the  liveried  groom  that  took  his 
horse,  the  blue  and  silver-laced  footman  who  led  him, 
through  a  hall  suggesting  bals  poudres,  with  its 
white  furnishing  and  light-lived  Boucher  panels,  to 
his  room.  The  huge  Fragonard  on  the  stairs  had 
for  its  theme  two  powdered  abbes  s-winging  a  maiden 
in  a  low  dress,  and  contemplating,  with  a  delight 
that  made  the  motif  of  the  picture,  her  generous 
calves.  Austin  reflected  on  the  probable  ideals  of 
a  household  brought  up  upon  this  picture ;  how  gro 
tesque  his  self-abasement  would  have  seemed  to  them, 
the  two  relig'ieux.  To  him,  however,  it  was  none 
the  less. 

No  one  was  up  yet  in  the  great  house.  Another 
footman,  this  time  in  morning  black,  brought  him 
coffee  in  his  room,  and  told  him  they  had  not  come 
back  till  after  sunrise.  The  man  unpacked  his  valise 
while  he  took  his  coffee.  "  Mrs  Pinckney's  room  is 
at  the  end  of  the  entry,  sir."  Austin  dismissed  the 
man,  saying  he  would  not  disturb  her;  then  he  made 
an  entire  change  in  his  clothing,  as  if  to  remove  the 
day  before  yet  one  stage  farther  off.  Then  he 
started  for  a  long  tramp  up  the  mountain. 

Coming  back,  it  was  after  noon ;  but  he  found 
his  wife  still  at  her  dressing  table,  the  maid  adjust 
ing  finishing  touches  to  her  breakfast  gown.  Re 
gardless  of  her  presence  his  wife  put  up  her  lips  to 

149 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

be  kissed ;  he  pretended  not  to  notice  it.  "  I  hope 
you're  not  still  cross,"  she  said. 

"  Cross  ?  "  Austin  felt  that  he  could  not  "  make 
up  "  in  the  presence  of  the  maid. 

"  You  were  when  I  left,  you  know."  Austin 
gave  a  brief  account  of  his  doings  for  the  past  two 
weeks,  and  asked  for  hers.  "  Oh,  not  much — the 
usual  thing." 

"  And  was  the — nocturnal  picnic  a  success  ?  " 
Humble  enough  he  felt,  God  knows,  yet  could  not 
keep  the  tone  of  criticism  from  his  voice. 

"  The  greatest  possible  fun.  It  was  all  Van 
Kull's  idea  and  he  was  delightful." 

"  I  thought,  Dorothy  dear,  you  had  come  to  my 
opinion  of  that  man."  He  spoke  with  all  possible 
gentleness ;  but,  turning  angrily  to  the  maid,  she 
bade  her  hurry ;  then  spoke  to  him  coldly :  "  Your 
opinions  are  peculiar.  You  don't  ask  me  mine  of 
Mamie  Rastacq.  She  was  to  meet  you,  he  told  me — 
you  dined  with  her,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  dined  with  her,"  said  Austin  in  measured 
words,  "  and  passed  the  evening  with  her."  He  felt 
a  strong  impulse  to  be  wholly  truthful  to  his  wife; 
had  the  maid  not  been  there,  he  might  have  told 
her  all. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  care  if  you  passed  the  night  with 
her."  The  maid  stopped  brushing.  "  Dorothy !  " 

150 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  all  that  he  could  say.  And  so  their  meeting 
ended.  Was  this  the  young  girl  he  had  known 
four  years  before?  The  coarse  thought — the  even 
coarser  voicing  of  it !  Yet  what  was  he  that  he 
should  reprove  her  for  it?  He  walked  softly  back 
through  the  long  hall,  before  the  Fragonard,  down 
the  marble  steps,  and  sat  in  a  shaded  alley  in  the 
garden.  This  was  the  nature  formed  by  the  life 
his  wife  was  leading ;  this,  perhaps,  what  he,  too,  was 
coming  to.  And  again  that  sense  of  intolerable  per 
sonal  degradation  made  him  wish  that  ten  years  of 
his  life  might  roll  by  before  he  faced  his  work  again. 
A  servant  announced  lunch,  and  he  saw  all  the 
party  assembled.  A  feeling  as  of  burnt-out  fire 
works  was  in  the  air;  the  women  were  all  tired,  the 
men  silent,  if  not  cross.  Flossie  Gower  alone  wras  in 
her  element.  It  seemed  she  had  not  gone  to  the 
picnic,  but  had  come  down  fresh  and  spent  the  morn 
ing  gleaning,  from  the  jaded  participants,  of  each 
the  other's  adventures.  At  nearly  fifty,  Mrs  Gow- 
er's  only  passion  was  art ;  but  she  lived,  like  a  para 
site,  upon  the  passions  of  others.  Tell  Mrs  Gower 
that  two  people  were  in  love,  and  she  would  have 
them  at  her  house  parties ;  good-naturedly,  she  liked 
even  making  engagements ;  but  she  enjoyed  it  more 
when  they  were  married;  enjoyed  it  most,  as  being 
more  complicated  and  full  of  tragic  possibility,  if 

151 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

one  were  married  and  the  other  not.  Flossie  now 
fancied  herself  like  an  Este  woman  of  Ferrara ;  any 
how  she  was  quite  assured  such  great  dames  stood 
above  morality.  Secreting  some  such  thought,  she 
looked  around  her  table.  The  company  were  rather 
too  wonted.  There  was  Killian,  of  course — but  it 
was  the  usual  thing ;  she  had  asked  for  him  a  young 
girl  of  twenty,  Miss  Hope,  of  Providence,  a  lovely 
gentle  blonde  with  five  millions,  looking  as  if  butter 
would  not  melt  in  her  mouth — and  he  would  not  look 
at  her.  She  was  too  marriageable.  Then  there  was 
Arthur  Holyoke — -but  he  was  fat  and  bespoke,  and 
it  was  only  Pussie  De  Witt,  besides.  There  was 
Tony  Duval,  but  he  frankly  avowed  his  preference 
for  women  of  another  world.  She  looked  at  Austin 
more  hopefully.  Would  he  not  go  fetch  Mamie  Ras- 
tacq?  She  was  coming  that  day  to  dinner.  "  I  am 
not  good  enough  for  her  to  sleep  here,"  she  laughed. 
But  Austin  had  promised  to  go  to  Lee  with  Mr 
Gower.  Dorothy  had  a  headache  and  would  not  go 
with  anybody.  Holyoke  and  Mrs  De  Witt  were 
paired ;  Van  Kull  had  secured  the  dogs  and  a  gun  for 
partridges ;  so  all  the  fun  that  Flossie  got  was  seeing 
Tony  left  to  the  schoolgirl.  And  Lucie,  who  would 
have  blocked  a  tete-a-tete  with  Killian,  let  them  go. 
He  knew  there  was  no  harm  for  her  in  Tony.  Tony 
only  stooped  to  conquer — he  never  aspired. 

152 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Mr  Gower  surprised  Austin  by  his  interest  in 
the  country,  in  the  country  people.  Mrs  Gower 
treated  them  as  a  peasantry,  a  fact  that  Lucie  seemed 
conscious  of;  the  men  he  met,  good  farmers,  sub 
stantial  yeomen  many,  he  all  called  by  name;  some 
even  were  Tom  or  Bill  to  him.  "  The  fact  is,  we 
rich  people  at  Lenox  do  a  great  deal  of  harm,"  he 
said ;  "  first,  at  playing  at  gentry  with  them,  lastly, 
I'm  afraid,  by  their  accepting  it."  And  Austin 
thought  the  remark  profound.  "  We  should  remem 
ber  that  these  Massachusetts  countrymen  have  not 
in  three  hundred  years  accepted  social  superiors,  and 
it's  only  the  brute  force  of  money  that  bends  them 
to  it  now." 

There  was  a  something  kindly,  sympathetic  about 
Mr  Gower  that  seemed  to  bring,  in  some  unexplained 
manner,  its  balm  to  Austin's  sore  self -consciousness. 
In  the  course  of  the  drive  he  said  some  pleasant 
words  about  Austin's  wife;  and  Austin  felt  assured 
that  here  was  a  friend,  and  a  friend  who  was  no  fool. 
But  who  else  was  there  in  that  household  he  could 
trust  ? 

Coming  home  for  a  late  tea,  they  found  that 
many  of  the  women  had  already  gone  up  to  dress ; 
for  the  Austrian  Ambassadress  had  arrived,  and 
something  very  splendid  in  the  line  of  toilet  was 
expected  that  night.  On  the  other  hand,  Mrs  Ras- 
11  153 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tacq  had  telephoned  her  indisposition.  Austin  found 
his  wife  arrayed  in  her  most  open  gown  and  contem 
plating  mutinously  the  three  ropes  of  modest  pearls 
around  her  pretty  neck.  "  You  should  see  her  dia 
monds,"  she  said.  And  indeed  it  was  fortunate  she 
had  them  on,  for,  when  Austin  found  himself  on  the 
left  of  the  Ambassadress  at  dinner  (for  Mrs  Gower 
had  chosen  to  dazzle  her  youngest  man  by  this  close 
proximity)  he  could  see  upon  her  bosom  nothing  else, 
while  her  back  was  literally  naked  to  the  waist.  Yet, 
thought  Austin,  how  obvious  the  expert  is  beside  the 
novice!  The  Ambassadress  (she  was  a  real  Ambas 
sadress,  for  Carolyi,  her  husband,  was  accredited  to 
the  Court  of  St.  James  and  only  in  Washington  upon 
a  special  mission)  was  a  professional;  beside  her  all 
the  other  women,  save  Flossie  Gower  herself,  ap 
peared  as  amateurs.  She  came  from  a  Continental 
air  where  it  was  frankly  recognized  that,  as  men 
"  got  on  "  by  their  intellect,  so  women  must  get  on, 
and  their  own  wives  must  get  them  on,  by  their 
charm.  And  charm  and  physical  allurement  become, 
to  the  elderly  diplomat,  synonymous.  His,  to  con 
ceal  the  truth,  hers,  to  reveal  it,  she  laughed.  Count 
ess  Carolyi  was  said  to  have  the  most  beautiful  torso 
in  Europe;  so  just  as  frankly  as  he  contributed  his 
wit  and  brains  to  the  dinner  table  she  contributed 
her  undraped  figure,  with  no  more  thought  of  any 

154. 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

indecency  in  her  display  than  in  his.  Austin,  who 
was  the  only  man  at  the  table  whose  French  was  be 
yond  criticism,  talked  volubly  with  her  in  that  lan 
guage;  and,  for  the  first  time  since  their  marriage, 
his  wife  felt  rather  proud  of  him.  And  Austin,  per 
haps,  began  to  wonder  whether,  after  all,  he  was  not 
morbid. 

They  were  to  have  left  the  next  morning,  but, 
after  a  fruitless  expostulation  on  Austin's  part,  con 
ducted  at  his  wife's  bedside  at  the  hour  of  her  retir 
ing,  Dorothy  had  decided  to  stay  on.  Austin's  tone 
was  not  affectionate,  only  appealing,  and  Dorothy 
was  fond  of  announcing  that  she  was  led  by  the  affec 
tions,  not  to  be  driven  by  any  taskmaster.  Austin 
(wisely  enough,  any  man  of  the  world  might  say) 
had  not  decided  to  confide  in  her,  or  it  all  might  have 
ended  with  her  arms  around  his  neck.  He  felt  that 
he  could  not  go  to  her  so  fresh  from  the  other 
woman's  kisses.  So,  after  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  he 
left  her  prevailing;  and  the  demure  French  maid, 
waiting  outside,  gave  him  a  curious  look  as  he  passed 
to  his  room.  Had  the  Major  been  there,  he  would 
have  groaned,  "  You  should  have  made  her  come." 
But  to  Austin's  Southern  chivalry  was  added  now 
his  shame. 

So  he  stayed  on  the  next  day,  but  in  a  savage 
mood ;  a  mood  in  which  a  man  laughs  at  consequences ; 

155 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  mood  in  which  a  man  may  go  to  the  devil.  His 
wife  was  off  with  Van  Kull ;  so  he  challenged  the 
Austrian  lady  to  a  drive,  and  found  her,  to  his 
amusement,  most  definitely  aware  of  the  conventional 
boundaries,  and  insistent  (as  perhaps  became  an 
Ambassadress)  at  the  very  punctus  of  the  frontier 
line — in  voies-de-fait,  that  is:  her  speech  was  free. 
Then  at  dinner  he  took  too  much  champagne,  did 
not  sleep,  and  at  dawn  found  himself  in  a  wave  of 
self-contempt  again.  That  night  he  took  his  leave; 
Gower,  who  seemed  to  have  some  curious  divina 
tion  of  the  situation,  telling  him  simply  (as  was 
always  Lucie's  way)  that  he  would  take  care  of  his 
wife. 

In  the  city,  in  the  honest  workaday  world,  his 
sanity  returned,  but  with  it  his  sense  of  degradation. 
Nor  was  there  meaning  in  the  world,  sympathy 
in  things  human,  or  sense  of  things  divine.  Work, 
work,  work,  the  only  panacea;  work,  work,  work,  for 
what  end  ?  His  wife  would  bear  no  children ;  he  no 
longer  loved  his  wife.  It  degraded  them  both  to  live 
together.  Pah !  who  was  he  to  talk  of  degradation  ? 
He  owed  her  a  duty,  if  not  a  reparation.  What  he 
had  given  her  was  never  love.  She  wanted  money ; 
well,  he  would  try  to  get  it.  For  him,  life  held  out 
nothing. 

There  was  still  too  much  ego  in  his  cosmos,  thought 
156 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

John  Haviland,  and  was  disturbed  about  his  friend. 
But  even  Grace,  with  all  her  gentle  comprehension, 
had  ceased  to  soothe.  The  strong  man  was  like  an 
angry  child.  He  worked  like  a  machine  all  day  and, 
as  John  fancied,  half  the  night;  for  when  he  would 
even  come  to  dine  with  them,  he  cut  short  his  cigar 
and  hurried  home,  as  one  who  has  left  a  job  unfin 
ished.  He  would  drink  nothing.  And  Grace  fan 
cied  sadly  what  the  half-made  lonely  home  in 
Eleventh  Street  must  be ;  the  days  so  going  by,  and 
Dorothy  not  coming  back. 

Pinckney  had  had  a  passion  for  music;  one  day, 
pathetically  as  Grace  Haviland  thought,  he  com 
plained  to  her  that  it  no  longer  spoke  to  him ;  so 
they  persuaded  him  to  come  to  lunch,  one  Sunday, 
and  go  to  a  special  rendering  that  was  to  be  given 
of  Tristan,  third  act,  and  the  Ninth  Symphony. 
Strange  tones  to  be  thus  coupled  together,  Austin 
thought.  The  only  other  person  present  was  to  be 
a  great  friend  of  Grace's,  Miss  Ravenel.  Her 
mother,  Mrs  Breese,  had  taken  her  own  mother's 
name.  Yes,  she  was  indeed  the  daughter  of  old 
Miles  Breese,  John  said ;  the  only  daughter ;  after 
the  only  son  had  died,  her  mother  had  got  her 
divorce;  and  to  be  near  him  (for  his  life  made  it 
quite  impossible  she  should  be  with  him,  of  which 
luckily  the  poor  loyal  child  was  ignorant)  she  sup- 

157 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ported  herself  in  the  winter,  in  New  York,  by  giving 
lessons.  "  Poor  girl,"  said  Austin,  remembering 
what  he  had  seen  at  Newport. 

It  was  the  Sunday ;  and  with  all  his  trouble,  Aus 
tin  had  no  heart  for  church.  Had  he  done  so,  it 
being  the  twenty-first  Sunday  after  Trinity,  he 
might  have  heard  a  word  to  his  address — a  collect 
asking  only  for  pardon  and  peace  and,  all  sins 
cleansed,  to  serve  God  with  a  quiet  mind — but  still 
on  that  morning,  near  the  thirtieth  year  of  his  life, 
Austin  had  not,  not  even  more  than  Dorothy,  been 
led  to  the  thought  of  simple  service.  Instead,  the 
cloud  of  his  sin  uncleansed  was  on  him  and  he  fought, 
manlike,  against  it  with  the  legs  of  a  horse — riding 
far  out  into  the  Westchester  highlands  and  return 
ing  at  dusk  through  the  softly  freezing  streets  un- 
assuaged.  As  the  soon  sun  set  in  its  burnished  still 
ness,  already  wintry,  his  horse  came  to  a  walk. 
To-day,  at  last,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  the  peace  of 
God  might  be  on  earth  for  others  if  not  for  him. 
He  had  come  to  the  thought  of  "  service  " — but  not 
yet  of  the  "  quiet  mind." 

He  was  late  and  dressed  hurriedly,  but  was  at 
John  Haviland's  for  the  early  dinner.  In  the  dusk 
of  the  narrow  New  York  drawing-room  a  slender 
black  figure  rose  to  greet  him.  "  Grace  is  not  down 
yet,"  she  said  simply.  "  I  am  Mary  Ravenel."  She 

158 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  a  very  beautiful  young  girl*  and  as  Austin 
looked  at  her,  perhaps  too  earnestly,  it  was  evident 
that  she,  at  least,  had  a  quiet  mind.  Their  talk  at 
dinner  was  of  real  things — unheard  since  many  weeks 
by  Austin — John  Haviland,  principally  of  the  way 
to  combat  socialism  on  the  stump ;  Miss  Ravenel,  of 
its  effect  upon  the  ideals  of  the  very  poor.  It 
appeared  (as  Grace  told  Austin  later)  that  be 
sides  her  paying  classes  about  half  her  work  was 
done  for  love.  For  a  young  girl  of  twenty,  she 
seems  strangely  mature,  thought  Austin ;  and  he 
stopped  his  own,  to  hear  her  thoughts  instead. 
But  when  both  he  and  John  so  stopped,  she  be 
came  suddenly  shy  and  reddened  slightly,  as  any 
girl  might. 

At  the  Metropolitan,  where  they  had  a  box,  the 
light  was  dim,  and  Austin  caught  himself  watching 
the  young  girl's  profile.  It  was  a  Sunday  night 
audience,  so  they  could,  fortunately,  listen.  Austin 
noticed  that  she  was  not  so  much  moved  by  Tristan. 
The  long,  lonely  invocation  of  the  loyal  Kurwenal — 
the  iterated,  weeping  cadences  of  the  lonely  sound 
ing  horn — still  the  sea  is  empty — moved  her  a  little ; 
the  sad  echoes  of  the  joyous  arrival  song  in  Cornwall 
long  ago,  at  last  the  great  cries  of  the  dying  hero, 
she  heard  with  parted  lips.  And  then  Sie  kommt! 
Sie  kommt,  a  sail !  His  own  heart  leaped  within  him 

159 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

as  it  had  been  wont,  at  those  marvelous  joy  notes,  to 
leap  in  his  dreaming  youth. 

Austin  suddenly  started  at  the  thought  that  his 
music  was  coming  back  to  him:  and  this  was  now 
made  sure.  For  Yseult's  death  chant,  joyously  sur 
mounting,  slow,  quiet  in  beginning,  then  swelling  to 
the  passion  of  the  joy  of  death — suddenly  tingled  in 
his  eyelids ;  thank  God !  he  felt,  still  tears  were  there. 
But  she,  her  clear  eyes  seemed  untroubled  still — she 
did  not  understand — this  Euthanasia  of  elemental 
love,  unchristian,  unconfined  in  duty. 

It  was  Beethoven  (he  could  see)  that  touched  her 
heart.  Here  was  the  love  divine;  here  was  the  joy 
of  life.  Not  joy  alone  in  death;  in  life,  as  the  God 
of  Christ  hath  willed.  Here  was  no  pagan  frenzy ; 
sane  and  normal,  yet  infinite  as  the  human  soul,  he 
heard,  as  he  watched  her  face,  the  mighty  climax  of 
the  last  movement  swell  until  the  poet's  ecstasy 
breaks  into  human  voices  and  the  joy  of  heaven 
stands  revealed  to  earth. 

They  walked  home,  saying  very  little;  and  then 
Austin  found  the  way  none  too  long  to  Eleventh 
Street.  Thank  Heaven  for  its  music!  It  had 
stanched  his  wounds ;  his  sins,  though  scarlet,  might 
yet  be  as  the  wool ;  his  soul  once  more  be  shriven. 
And  Austin,  that  night,  again  prayed:  for  himself, 
for  his  wife.  No  more  the  dreadful  sense  of  degra- 

160 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dation  was  present ;  it  had  been,  it  should  be  no  more. 
It  was  God's  music  had  done  this :  that  night  at  last, 
no  longer  conscious  of  his  shame,  of  his  despair,  of 
his  selfish  sorrows — but  only  of 

"  L'Amor  che  muove  il  sol'  e  gl'altre  stelle." 


161 


BOOK    TWO 

Vuolsi  cost  cola  dove  si  puote 
do  che  si  vuole.          ." — Dante. 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XXV 

THOSE  who  have  ever  had  a  vital  illness  may 
remember  how,  on  the  morning  of  the  day 
that  it  came  on,  there  was  a  curious  tremor  in  the 
sky,  a  curious  unreality  in  the  apperceptions  of 
things  on  earth.  It  is  as  if  the  pulses,  conscious 
of  the  coming  evil,  seek  to  weave  their  web  across 
realities  as  the  gauze  veil  is  drawn  across  the  scene 
in  a  stage  play.  So,  with  increasing  fever,  the  mists 
grow  thicker  before  the  patient's  eyes,  until,  with 
the  coming  of  night  again,  comes  the  full  delirium 
that  may  be  the  end.  For  of  such  stuff  are  dreams, 
but  all  our  life  is  rounded  with  them. 

And  the  next  day  the  great  city  was  veiled  in 
snow.  Like  a  bride — or  better,  like  a  penitent 
woman  at  her  next  communion — in  the  snow  she  knelt 
shriven  of  her  sins.  But  above,  the  vault  of  our 
Western  blue  sparkled,  glorious,  golden — one  can 
not  forget  Foe's  immortal  collocation — and  to  Aus 
tin  the  air  of  this  Monday  morning  blew  like  a  bugle 
call.  It  was  a  day,  for  him,  of  glorious  battle:  in 
the  highest  tribunal  of  the  land  but  one,  he  was  to 
argue  a  cause  in  which  (as  is  not,  despite  the  cynic 
critics  of  his  calling,  always  the  case  in  lawsuits) 
the  Right  was  imperiled :  it  was  a  question  of  a  wife, 

165 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

deserted  by  her  husband,  mother  of  his  children, 
now  confronted  with  the  loss  of  heritage  and  home 
at  the  greed  of  his  latest  mistress,  setting  up,  after 
his  death,  a  South  Dakota  divorce.  Pinckney,  amid 
the  definite  miseries  of  the  last  few  days,  had  counted 
not  the  least  that  he  had  felt  himself  unworthy,  in 
his  state  of  mind  and  heart,  to  champion  these  lists. 
Fortunately,  to-day,  the  wonderful  air  was  to  his 
nerves  like  wine ;  the  mists  of  yesterday  had  vanished 
at  the  northwest  wind;  in  his  head  there  rang  un 
wonted  music — his  old  favorite  of  all,  Palestrina's 
hymn  of  Victory,  and  then  again  (as  he  had  seen 
them  through  the  night)  the  choruses  of  the  Ninth 
Symphony,  like  visions  of  angels  "  in  strong,  level 
flight."  And  in  the  court  he  pleaded  against  the 
constitutional  State  right  of  South  Dakota  to  grant 
divorces  (well  argued  by  Markoff  on  the  other  side), 
the  higher  constitutional,  even  the  sovereign — nay, 
the  human — right  of  the  people  of  New  York  to 
speak,  through  her  laws,  for  purity  of  life,  to 
strengthen  the  steps  of  her  citizens  in  Christian  liv 
ing,  to  sanctify  by  irrevocable  vows  the  surrender  of 
the  maiden,  reward  the  truth  of  the  wife,  protect 
the  mother  of  her  children  in  her  honesty  and  in 
her  home.  And  when  Austin  had  finished,  the  pre 
siding  justice,  a  member  of  the  highest  earthly 
court,  called  him  to  the  bar  and  publicly  compli- 

166 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

mented  him ;  and  even  Markoff,  rolling  up  his  pa 
pers,  knew  that  he  was  worsted,  and  felt  little  con 
fidence  even  in  his  last  appeal,  by  writ  that  "  error 
had  been  done,"  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States. 

Going  back  to  his  office,  Austin  found  Mr 
Gresham  awaiting  him.  Some  kindly  impulse  made 
him  stop  and  say  a  word  to  Miss  Aylwin,  as  he  went 
by  the  outer  room.  She  flushed  and  colored  and 
spoke  for  a  moment  brokenly.  Austin  wondered  if 
she  had  been  fearful,  doubting  what  he  might  tell 
about  their  meeting  at  Newport ;  it  was  true,  he  had 
not  found  occasion  to  speak  to  her  since.  How 
heedless  we  are  of  the  sensitiveness  of  others,  in  our 
hurry,  in  our  consciousness  of  general  good  inten 
tion!  Why,  Austin  felt,  he  had  no  more  doubted 
Miss  Aylwin  than — than  anyone.  He  was  sorry  for 
her ;  the  world  presented  so  hard  a  side  to  her  gentle 
beauty ;  even  if  she  only  went  there  for  her  pleasure. 
Mr  Gresham  complimented  Austin  on  his  success,  of 
which  he  had  already  heard ;  even  Judge  Blandford 
had  thought  it  worth  while  to  telephone  him  a  mes 
sage  of  congratulation. 

"  He  has  no  doubt  of  the  decision  and  says 
there's  no  chance  of  a  reversal." 

"  Or  certiorarl  ?  " 

"  They'll  never  grant  it,  after  two  findings  on 
.  167 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  facts.  But  I  want  to  talk  about  Allegheny  Cen 
tral " 

"  I  had  some  talk  about  it  with  Mr  Breese  at 
Newport — 

"  Mr  Breese  is  a  very  small  factor  at  present. 
Our  duty  is  toward  a  larger  public.  The  stock 
holders  have  formed  a  protective  committee,  which 
we  represent.  Now,  you  know  young  Markoff,  and 
I  know  his  client,  Mr  Phineas  Tamms.  They  claim 
that  he  has  secured  control." 

"Can  he  have?" 

"  I  don't  see  how  it's  possible.  The  stock  is  in 
the  strong  boxes  of  the  widows  and  orphans  of  Bal 
timore  and  Philadelphia — or  should  be.  That  time 
in  the  panic  when  the  Starbuck  oil  plant  was  burned 
must  have  taught  them  a  lesson.  Even  then,  Wall 
Street  dealt  largely  on  paper.  It  would  have  trou 
bled  Deacon  Remington  at  any  time  to  deliver 
all  the  stock  he  sold.  But  Tamms  has  got 
himself  elected  president.  And  Chestnut  Street 
and  South  Street  are  shaken  to  their  founda 
tions." 

"  Haviland's  house  has  connections  there,"  said 
Austin.  "  I'll  ask  him." 

"  No  use  of  asking  Markoff,  I  suppose?  " 

"  I  knew  him  at  college,"  said  Austin  dryly. 

"  I  sent  for  Tamms  to  come  to  this  office  yester- 
168  - 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

day.  He  didn't  dare  not  come.  There  was  a  rumor 
that  they  were  about  to  issue  twenty  millions  of 'pre 
ferred  four  per  cent  stock,  ostensibly  for  the  pur 
chase  of  his  Allegheny  Pacific — the  old  Belief ontaine 
branch." 

"  He  undoubtedly  owns  that,"  said  Austin. 

"  Of  course  it  would  render  the  old  common  stock 
— it  has  paid  its  eight  per  cent  for  forty  years — 
almost  valueless.  I  told  him  that  it  would  be  a 
fraud,  a  moral  fraud — 

Austin  bit  his  lip  at  the  adjective.  "And  what 
did  he  say?  " 

"  He  said  that  he  was  acting  in  everything  under 
the  advice  of  counsel." 

"  Suppose  he  only  leases  his  road — for  four  per 
cent  on  twenty  millions,"  said  Austin.  "  Where  are 
we  better  off?  " 

"  A  lease  can  be  enjoined — a  lease  can  be  an 
nulled.  Whereas  the  stock  once  issued — in  the 
hands  of  the  innocent  purchaser — 

"  Oh,  the  innocent  purchaser,"  said  Austin.  He 
had  a  letter  in  his  pocket  from  Dorothy ;  it  did  not 
tell  him  much  about  her  affairs,  but  said  that  Mark- 
off — to  her  evident  surprise — had  come  to  be  of  the 
house  party.  He  was  much  improved.  And  he 
had  told  her  that  Allegheny  Pacific,  then  selling  in 
the  twenties,  was  bound  for  a  great  rise. 
12  169 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Can't  you  make  it  worth  your  while  to  go  on 
to  Baltimore?"  said  Gresham,  as  Austin  followed 
out  his  own  reflections. 

But  he  did  not  want  to  go  to  Baltimore  just 
then.  "  I'll  see  Hnviland  first." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  old  Mr  Gresham,  always 
deferent  of  others.  And  Austin,  modestly  conscious 
that  he  had  earned  his  afternoon,  took  the  train  for 
a  little  place  he  knew  in  the  lower  Hudson  Highlands. 
He  felt  a  sort  of  youthful  Siegfried  hunger  for 
more  achievement.  Bars  of  the  joy  of  Beethoven 
still  were  ringing  in  his  sky.  At  Alpine  he  left  the 
train  and  enjoyed  a  furious  tramp  through  the  al 
ready  crisp  snow,  through  the  pine  woods,  above  the 
Palisades,  in  sunset,  and  in  twilight,  and  in  evening. 
At  last,  he  came  out  upon  the  cliffs  opposite  New 
York.  It  was  ebon  night ;  but  above  the  great  city 
the  stars  faded  in  the  glare  of  its  own  electric  lights. 
Its  myriad  little  window  lights — domestic,  these — 
twinkled  faintly,  like  the  softer  radiance  of  the 
Milky  Way,  lost  in  the  planetary  blaze.  He  tried 
to  make  out  the  neighborhoods — there,  of  course, 
was  the  Madison  Square  tower,  an  easy  point  to  start 
from.  Above,  on  Murray  Hill,  Park  Avenue,  was 
John  Haviland's ;  below,  in  the  very  center  of  the 
island,  his  own  house ;  it  would  now  be  dark.  He 
wondered  where —  Suddenly,  far  to  the  east,  in  the 

170 


rising  moon,  he   noticed   the  silver   shining   of   the 
Sound. 

To-night  there  was  nothing  for  him  but  the  club. 
He  felt  too  young  for  its  repose,  too  intolerant  of 
its  tattle.  What  did  other  people  do  who  must  have 
lonely  evenings?  The  Hoboken  ferryboat  was  full 
of  happy  young  people  going  to  the  play:  he  took 
pleasure  in  their  pleasure;  was  it  not  well  earned? 
They  had  done  their  daily  labor ;  so  had  he.  And 
now,  man  and  maid,  they  were  seeking  that  drama 
which  perhaps  was  never  to  be  theirs ;  the  world  to 
them,  of  romance — the  Play — or  even  if  but  pleas 
ure,  what  harm?  A  fairy  spectacle  may  be  ideal 
enough  to  one  who  has  had  to  bend  her  steady  eyes, 
eleven  hours,  above  one  part  of  one  machine.  Aus 
tin  loved  to  look  at  them.  Then,  too,  there  was  the 
working  suburban  with  his  wife,  going,  these,  too, 
to  the  play,  citizens,  fathers,  and  thoughtful  voters 
we  may  hope ;  and  going  each  with  his  own  wife — not 
as  it  would  have  been  in  Mrs  Gower's  circle,  which 
looked  down  on  them  and  called  them  "  commuters  " 
contemptuously —  The  term  had  been  invented  by 
the  cynical  Sun,  but  had  been  adopted  with  enthu 
siasm  by  that  set  who,  perchance,  living  themselves 
in  flats,  hovered  from  New  York  to  Newport  or  to 
Aiken  or  to  Monte  Carlo — who  would  have  invited 
a  dago  princelet  before  Ben  Franklin  to  their  draw- 

171 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing-rooms  —  hired,  these  latter,  at  a  restaurant. 
Commuters,  forsooth!  American  householders — as 
for  Mrs  Gower  and  her  set,  they  were — what  was 
the  old  English  term?  Potwallopers — and  Austin 
laughed  at  the  phrase,  and  saved  it  up  for  Lucie, 
when  he  should  see  that  honest  fellow  again — only 
T.  Levison-Gower,  despite  his  name,  parted  in  the 
middle,  as  the  vernacular  goes,  was  no  "  potwal- 
loper,"  but  a  full-bred  American  citizen,  his  roots 
planted  firmly  in  the  soil  of  Berkshire  County,  Mass. 
"  Potwalloper  " — a  man  who  boiled  his  pot  in  a  city 
once  a  year  and  therefore  claimed  the  right  of  free 
man  there.  John  Haviland  was  no  potwalloper. 
The  worst,  perhaps,  he  knew  was  old  Antoine  Ras- 
tacq — born  heaven  knew  where,  he  owned  estates  in 
Greece,  was  bred  in  Pau  and  Newport — his  king 
dom,  not  in  heaven,  nor,  any  longer,  in  his  restless 
wife's  heart —  Shuffling  still,  with  his  locomotor 
ataxia,  to  each  fashionable  ball,  making  a  collection 
of  the  portraits  of  pretty  young  girls —  How  his 
wife  must  now  despise  him — and  Austin  had  a  mo 
ment's  understanding  even  of  poor  Mamie — of  her 
hatred  of  him,  barbed  with  the  knowledge  of  evil  he 
had  taught  her,  of  her  self,  cynically,  like  some 
Kundry,  testing,  for  their  like  knowledge,  the  souls 
of  men. 

No,  he  could  not  stand  the  club  to-night.     Why 
172 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  he  not  a  club  upon  the  Bowery,  like  John  Havi- 
land?  John  was  possibly  there  to-night;  if  he  only 
knew  where  it  was,  he  would  go  there  too.  It  was 
too  soon  to  call,  after  his  dinner.  Not,  indeed,  that 
before  this  he  had  ever  cared  how  often  he  called 
upon  John  Haviland.  Why  would  not  Dorothy  take 
some  interest  in  the  life,  the  real  life,  of  her  adopted 
city?  It  was  to  be  her  home.  Why  would  she  not 
cultivate  the  Havilands  and  not  Van  Kull? 

Van  Kull,  in  another  ten  years,  would  almost  be 
another  Tony  Rastacq,  American  as  he  was.  He 
was  acquiring  the  horrible,  the  un-American  way, 
of  love  affairs  with  young  girls — this  Austin  knew, 
from  the  Major,  who  made  his  text  of  Daisy.  Hand 
some  as  his  lost  face  was,  it  was  growing  yet  more 
evil.  He  was  now  more  to  be  found  at  Narragan- 
sett,  or  even  at  Watch  Hill  or  such  unexplored  re 
sorts — the  girls  at  Newport  were  too  knowing  for 
him,  he  said — and  the  grim  truth  that  clothes  the 
words  of  Mephistopheles  through  the  Faust  lay  in 
this  speech — for,  as  he  grew  old,  his  pleasures  must 
be  stronger.  He  needed  now  the  spice  of  sin.  He 
liked  to  dazzle  young  girls  (and  our  yellow  press  sees 
to  it  that  America  is  not  without  innocent  young 
girls  who  can  be  dazzled  by  such  as  he) — he  would 
pick  one  out  for  the  summer,  dazzle  her,  intoxicate 
her,  perhaps  compromise  her  if  he  could — not  girls 

173 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  his  own  class,  perhaps.  So  much  the  fouler  play ! 
The  Major  had  told  Austin  this,  it  was  no  jest,  he 
said,  and  the  young  Carolinian  had  said  (it  was  no 
jest  either)  he  would  like  a  chance  to  kill  him.  Pos 
sibly  Van  Kull  saw  this  (not,  to  do  him  justice,  that 
he  would  much  have  cared)  and  for  the  nonce  relaxed 
his  pursuit  of  silly  Daisy. 

But  to-night  Austin  could  see  some  good  in  all 
men — all,  anyhow,  but  Van  Kull — certainly  in  all 
women.  The  passion  of  his  own  remorse  had  purged 
his  nature;  with  the  shriving  came  the  great  com 
passion  for  the  sinning — the  infinite  compassion  of 
the  pure.  To  his  dear  wife  he  had  been  hard — 
narrow,  boy-man-like.  His  nature  was  larger  now. 

Must  it  be  that  a  man  must  sin  to  be  redeemed? 
That,  surely,  is  not  true  of  women.  Yet  the  stories 
of  Senta,  of  Tannhauser — yes,  even  of  Dante  and  of 
Shakespeare — would  hint  at  some  such  truth.  But 
Austin  felt  nobly  confident  his  wife  had  never  sinned. 
He  would  go  home  and  write  to  her. 

It  was  a  long,  affectionate  letter.  He  insulted 
her  with  no  word  of  Van  Kull — wrote  much  and  ear 
nestly  of  her  hoped-for  home-coming,  and  closed  with 
a  laughing  reference  to  her  desire  to  speculate.  The 
brougham  should  be  hers,  he  bade  her  hope;  he  had 
won,  he  felt  sure,  a  great  case  that  very  day.  As 
for  Markoff,  he  doubted  that  young  Hebrew's  real 

174- 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

desire  to  make  their  fortune.  It  was  not  for  his 
own  beaux  yeux — since  when  had  she  so  smiled  upon 
him? 

A  thought  occurred  to  him,  and  he  wrote  a  word 
to  Lucie  Gower.  He  was  interested  too;  and  he 
owed  him  a  bread-and-butter  letter  anyhow.  He 
spoke  a  word  of  his  hospitality,  and  of  Dorothy's 
enjoying  it  so  long.  He  mentioned  Markoff's  "  tip." 
Then  he  turned  again  to  his  letter  to  her  and  added  a 
word  of  endearment  and  lay  down  to  a  dreamless 
sleep.  Well  earned — for  one  who  had  argued  a 
national  case,  tramped  twenty  miles  through  winter 
snow,  and  sat  till  after  midnight  writing  letters! 

Two  days  after  this  Austin  got  two  telegrams. 
One  was  from  Lucie  (he  had  not  credited  him  with 
so  much  learning),  "  Timeo  hebraos  nee  dona  feren- 
tes"  the  other  from  his  wife,  "  Am  coming  home  to 
morrow,"  and  Austin  rushed  out  to  buy  flowers  for 
her. 

XXVI 

WHEN    Dorothy    came    in,    her    first    glance, 
which  Austin,  busy  with  the  things  in  the 
carriage,  did  not  see,  was  for  the  card  tray.     Then 
she  sent  the  maid  for  a  tea  gown  and  bade  her  undo 
her  boots.     The  girl  stood  irresolute  until  a  petu- 

175 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lant  command  from  Dorothy  brought  her  to  her 
knees.  "  Now  carry  the  boots  upstairs.  I  really 
must  have  a  maid  to  myself.  Ann  is  only  fit  to  scrub 
floors." 

"  Does  that  come  before  the  brougham  ?  "  smiled 
her  husband. 

"  Every  other  woman  at  Flosheim  had  a  maid 
with  her.  They  could  wear  a  dozen  fresh  waists  a 
day,  if  they  chose.  You  look  flourishing  enough !  " 

"  I've  been  working  very  hard." 

"  Well,  Mr  Markoff  has  his  brougham  and 
everything  else  and  yet  he  seems  to  find  some  time 
for  society." 

"  Did  you  ask  him  to  come  to  your  Fridays  this 
year?  " 

"  My  Fridays  were  ridiculous — it's  silly  for  us 
to  try  to  entertain  in  this  house.  Oh,  he  hadn't  a 
word  to  throw  at  me;  I'm  not  good  enough  for  him 
now.  All  the  eyes  he  had  were  for  Mrs  Gower." 

"  Perhaps  he  was  there  on  business,"  suggested 
Austin. 

"  No,  for  Mr  Gower  didn't  want  him.  He 
snubbed  him  terribly.  Markoff  wanted  to  be  intro 
duced  to  Countess  Carolyi,  and  Mr  Gower  wouldn't." 

"  Perhaps  she  wouldn't.  Austrians  are  full  of 
prejudice.  My  sisters ' 

"  Oh,  I'm  tired  of  hearing  about  your  sisters — I 
176 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

should  think  you  had  thirty  instead  of  three."  She 
spoke  before  the  maid,  and  Austin  was  silent;  but 
was  sure  that  he  could  not  remember  when  he  last  had 
spoken  of  his  family.  Dorothy  bade  the  maid  re 
move  her  dress  and  then  adjust  the  gown,  holding  up 
her  arms — and  Dorothy  was  proud  of  her  arms,  still 
so  frail  and  girlish — as  she  did  so.  Austin  did  not 
like  this  habit,  acquired  from  Daisy  in  their  con 
tracted  lodgings  at  Newport,  of  dressing  all  about 
the  house;  but  he  had  made  a  resolve  no  more  to 
reprove  his  wife.  Instead,  when  the  maid  had 
gone,  he  kissed  her;  and  she  looked  a  shade  less 
fretful. 

And  now  the  callers  and  the  dinner  invitations 
began.  Every  night  they  went  out  to  dinner — she 
was  always  calling  in  the  afternoons — and  pretty 
soon  there  were  dances  too;  for  Dorothy  never  re 
fused  an  invitation  (except  to  accept  a  better  one), 
and  (moreover,  having  an  attractive  husband)  such 
young  people  are  in  demand.  If  only  we  had  that 
mad  desire  to  feed  the  poor  we  have  to  feed  the  rich ! 
The  only  invitations  she  would  not  accept  Avere  the 
Havilands' — and  Petrus  Gansevoort's,  of  course; 
they  were  asked  once — to  a  grand  ball  he  was  giving 
in  the  Fifth  Avenue  palace — but  probably  by  mistake. 
Dorothy  rather  accentuated  the  breach ;  she  was  quite 
aware  of  the  vogue  she  had  enjoyed  in  her  first  win- 

177 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ter  as  "  the  girl  who  had  run  away  from  Pete." 
She  was  fond  of  saying  such  things  as  "  Oh,  there  is 
Mrs  Gansevoort — I  can't  go  in  with  her."  But  she 
said  that  Gracie  Haviland  did  not  like  her,  so  Austin 
had  to  take  his  dinners  there  alone,  when  her  even 
ings,  as  sometimes  happened,  were  filled  without  him. 
But,  as  the  years  went  by,  she  found  it  rather  a 
nuisance  never  to  go  to  the  Gansevoort  balls. 

Meantime  Austin's  growing  interest  in  his  pro 
fession  absorbed  him  more  and  more.  And  he  was 
also  resolved  to  strike  his  roots  more  deeply  into  the 
city's  life.  What  John  Haviland  could  do,  what 
Lucie  Gower  could  do,  what  Mary  Ravenel  could  do, 
surely  he  could  do.  He  began  to  study  John's  clubs 
and  classes  in  the  Bowery.  Leaving  there  after 
dark,  one  Friday  afternoon,  Haviland  asked  him  to 
walk  down  to  Rivington  Street.  "  Miss  Ravenel  has 
a  late  class  to-day,  and  I  always  like  to  walk  home 
with  her  if  it's  after  dark." 

"  Do  you  mean  she  walks  all  alone  from  Riving 
ton  Street?" 

"  It's  not  that  neighborhood  I  mind — to  begin 
with,  she  has  lived  there,  months  at  a  time,  and  almost 
everyone  knows  her.  But  I  never  heard  of  a  lady, 
on  her  business,  being  insulted  on  Rivington  Street. 
It's  Twenty-third  Street,  and  Fifth  Avenue,  where 
that  danger  is." 

178 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  It  is  a  long  walk,"  said  Austin  gravely. 

"  She  is  too  poor  to  take  a  carriage." 

Austin  thought  of  his  wife's  new  brougham,  just 
chartered  for  the  winter,  and  the  horse  idle  in  his 
stable,  for  it  was  her  "  at  home  "  day,  but  the  vision 
was  dismissed  with  a  sigh.  Anyhow,  he  would  not 
on  that  day  be  wanted  at  home.  So  he  swung  his 
stride  to  Haviland's. 

To  use  up  the  time  they  walked  through  Centre 
Street,  passing  by  the  Tombs.  Austin  looked  at  the 
dignified  old  portal  to  the  dolent  city ;  it  was  the  first 
time  he  had  seen  it ;  his  clients  were  not  of  that  class. 
John  spoke  a  word  to  a  plainly  dressed  old  woman 
who  just  then  issued  from  the  Egyptian  pylon. 
Austin  looked  on ;  perhaps  his  curiosity  appeared ; 
for  John  said,  "  That  is  Mrs  C. — they  call  her  the 
Tombs  Angel."  And  they  were  still  talking  of  her 
when  they  met  Miss  Ravenel. 

"  I  hear  so  much  of  her  from  friends — from  my 
girls  who  have  friends  in  trouble.  I  can  only  work 
among  the  good,  you  know,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden 
shy  smile  to  Austin. 

"  And  better  you  should,"  growled  Haviland. 
"  And  if  anyone  can  keep  them  good,  you  and  Gracie 
can.  Besides,  they  see  you  do  it." 

Miss  Ravenel's  smile  rippled  frankly  into  laugh 
ter.  "  Lessons  in  the  arts  of  virtue,  with  practical 

179 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

demonstration,  as  they  say  in  colleges !  What  prigs 
you  make  us  seem  !  " 

"Did  you  go  to  college,  Miss  Ravenel?  "  asked 
Austin. 

"  No,  I  didn't.  I  lived  alone  in  the  country,  with 
my  grandmother,  in  Maryland.  But  my  coming-out 
year  I  came  to  New  York." 

"  And  came  out  in  the  slums,"  laughed  John. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  laughed  the  girl.  "  I  went 
to  Mrs  Ganscvoort's  ball  and  to  Mrs  Rastacq's  re 
ception  before  I  sank  to  my  natural  level.  Don't 
you  believe  him,  Mr  Pinckney ;  Mr  Haviland  '  doesn't 
move  in  my  circles,'  that's  all."  But  Austin  did  not 
heed  her;  the  words  about  Mrs  Rastacq  had  struck 
his  chest  like  a  bullet. 

"  You  emerge  occasionally — I  have  met  you  at 
dinners,"  continued  Haviland. 

"  Only  that  I  may  study  the  customs  of  my  bet 
ters.  All  my  working  girls  model  themselves  on  the 
Four  Hundred,  you  know.  Come,  this  is  Tompkins 
Square,  and  we  are  not  of  the  Four  Hundred.  I 
always  have  a  race  here,  when  it's  dusk."  Except  in 
the  paths,  the  snow  of  the  little  park  was  quite  un 
trodden,  and  the  benches  were  empty.  Like  an 
Artemis  she  bounded  forward,  the  men  after  her. 
John,  with  his  fifty  years,  soon  fell  behind ;  but  Aus 
tin  barely  kept  with  her  until,  on  the  other  side,  she 

180 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

sank  breathless  into  a  seat.  From  her  rosy  face  the 
laughing,  direct  eyes  looked  out  at  Austin,  and  he 
noticed — not  their  color,  which  was  indescribable,  but 
that  they  were  very  gentle  and  yet  their  glance  was 
clear  and  brave.  Their  color,  indeed,  like  a  deep 
mountain  tarn  hidden  from  all  wind,  was  misty  gray 
or  blue  as  the  light  took  it.  As  she  sat  there  she 
looked  the  picture  of  health;  and  Austin  was  glad 
to  notice  it,  for  the  other  day  he  had  fancied  her 
delicate. 

"What  is  the  hardest?" 

"  The  hardest  thing  I  find?  "  Miss  Ravenel  grew 
quickly  serious.  "  To  keep  them  from  copying  the 
wrong  models — and  to  make  them  see  the  right  ones. 
Women  of  the  really  grand  monde — what  I  call  it — 
are  not  portrayed  in  the  newspapers." 

"  And  what  you  call  the  grand  monde  is  the  uni 
verse — God's  world." 

She  darted  a  quick  glance  of  approval.  "  And 
all  humanity's,"  she  added.  "  Women  like  Gracie 
Haviland,  for  instance.  They  are  not  advertised. 
Work  girls  cannot  imagine  them ;  they  have  to  meet 
them.  And  then  it  takes  an  education  to  appreciate 
them.  Whereas  women  like — 

"  Like  Mrs  Rastacq,  for  instance."  Austin  said 
it  with  a  gulp. 

"  Oh,  they  are  easy  to  copy." 
181 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  wish  I  could  do  something  of  the  kind — like 
Mr  Haviland,"  he  added,  as  that  gentleman  panted 
up.  "  I  have,  as  Deerslayer  says,  no  gift.  A  class 
of  newsboys  would  embarrass  me  terribly.  I  should 
be  afraid  to  speak  lest  they  should  urge  me  to  '  come 
off.'  " 

"  I  was  terribly  self-conscious  at  the  beginning." 
Never  was  reproof  more  tenderly  administered;  but 
Pinckney's  face  crimsoned.  "  But  there  are  other 
worlds  than  the  newsboys.  And  girls  are  really 
harder." 

"  You  teach  them  the  classics  of  such  teaching, 
I  suppose — to  do  their  duty  in  that  station  of  life  in 
which  a  wise  Providence  placed  them,"  said  John. 

"  I  find  that  quite  hopeless,  Mr.  Haviland.  The 
best  I  can  hope  for  is  to  point  out  the  duties  of  the 
stations  some  grades  above.  Even  then  the  difficulty 
is  that  so  many  of  them  feel  quite  sure  they  are  quali 
fied  already." 

"  I  am  afraid  they  are,  as  they  see  it,"  said  Aus 
tin,  thinking  of  Flosheim. 

Divining  his  little  hurt,  the  young  lady  now  let 
her  eyes  rest  on  his  a  moment.  Never  was  sensitive 
ness  more  gently  cured.  "  I  should  think  you  could 
do  something." 

Away  from  the  snow's  light,  the  streets  were 
darker ;  the  throngs  on  Fourth  Avenue  impeded  con- 

182 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

versation ;  at  Twenty-fourth  Street  they  went 
through  to  Madison  Avenue.  John  lived  just  east, 
on  Thirty-fifth  Street,  and  they  left  him  at  his  door. 
"  I  often  see  him  home,"  the  girl  laughed.  "  No, 
I'll  not  go  in.  I  know  you  dine  to-night  with  the 
Two  Hundred " 

"  Trying  to  butt  in,"  said  John.  "  And  we  can't 
exchange  calls  with  Rivington  Street."  Austin  went 
on  with  her  to  the  corner  of  Park  Avenue,  and  down 
one  block — then  Miss  Ravenel  stopped,  extending 
her  hand : 

"  Here  our  ways  separate." 

"  Try  and  think  of  something  for  me  to  do." 

"  I  will,"  said  the  girl  simply. 

Pinckney  looked  a  moment  after  her ;  then,  as 
she  crossed  the  Thirty-fourth  Street  bridge,  he 
turned  resolutely  away.  He  walked  rapidly  back  to 
Fifth  Avenue  and  on  to  Central  Park.  Thence,  it 
being  almost  time  for  dinner,  he  took  the  elevated 
railway  home. 

XXVII 

BUT,  coming  home,  he  found  his  wife  absent  on  a 
theatre  and  dinner  party,  leaving  a  note  be 
hind  her  to  that  effect. 

(Dorothy  was  one  of  those  who  started  the  fash 
ion  of  separate  engagements.  "  Why,"  said  she, 

183 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  take  every  meal  with  the  man  you  take  all  your 
meals  with?  " — and  clever  husbands  or  pretty  wives 
who  will  accept  without  their  spouses  are  always  in 
much  demand.)  So  Austin  had  to  dine  alone  at  his 
club  at  a  season  when  it  was  almost  disreputable  for 
a  man  to  dine  at  the  club  alone.  But  Mr  Miles 
Breese  was  also  dining  there,  and,  after  dinner,  he 
buttonholed  our  hero.  "  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you 
about  Allegheny  Central.  You  don't  mind  talking 
here?  It  saves  a  trip  downtown  "  ("  and  ten  dollars," 
perhaps  one  might  have  read,  his  thought  contin 
ued).  "Those  fellows,  they  say,  have  called  a  spe 
cial  meeting." 

"  Tamms  ?     He  can't  have  got  the  stock." 

"  He  hinted  to  me — that  is,  my  young  friend 
Markoff  did — that  he  had  got  the  proxies.  And 
they  only  give  sixty  days'  notice.  He  asked  for 
mine.  Of  course  I  gave  it." 

"  You  gave  him  your  proxy  ?  "  Most  of  Mr 
Breese's  face  could  not  be  redder ;  but  the  color  grew 
more  uniform. 

"  One  must  stand  in  with  one's  friends,  you  know, 
and  I  don't  deny  there  was  a  consideration.  I 
couldn't  excite  suspicion,"  he  added  slyly.  "  But  if 
Markoff  is  my  friend,  you  are  my  counsel.  One's 
lawyer  must  protect  one  from  one's  friends,  eh,  eh?  " 
An  unctuous  smile  of  anticipated  humor  invaded  his 

184 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

round  red  face  as  he  closed,  reminiscently :  "  Par 
ticularly  when  they  are  ladies." 

"  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do,  Mr  Breese?  "  said 
Austin,  after  an  interval  of  silence. 

"  We  can't  tell  what  they  mean  to  do.  If  Mar- 
koff  is  telling  the  truth,  they  mean  to  wreck  the 
road." 

"  Markoff  always  tells  the  truth  when  he  can," 
said  Austin. 

"  Precisely.  But  we  can,  perhaps,  find  out 
whether  his  client  has  secured  control.  The  books 
are  kept  in  Baltimore.  If  he  has  been  buying  prox 
ies  here,  he  has  been  buying  proxies  there." 

"Well?"  said  Austin. 

"  Well,  I  thought  you  might  go  down  there." 

"  I  can't  possibly  go  off  to  Baltimore.  To  begin 
with,  it's  not  a  lawyer's  business." 

"  No  detective — I  mean  no  agent,  a  broker,  for 
instance — could  go  into  the  railroad  office  and  ask  to 
see  the  books  and  things  and  get  any  sort  of  treat 
ment.  Whereas  a  lawyer  can  frighten  them  with 
injunctions  and  things." 

"  You  can't  enjoin  a  stockholders'  meeting.  And 
you  don't  want  to  frighten  them.  They've  covered 
their  tracks  as  it  is,  if  they've  been  buying  proxies 
only,  and  the  stock  book  won't  show  anything." 

Miles  Breese  looked  at  him,  disappointed.  He 
13  185 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

wanted  to  hint  at  a  large  fee ;  but  didn't  like  to. 
Moreover,  he  couldn't  pay  it. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  he.  "  It  means  much  to  me. 
And  it  means  more  to  my  poor  daughter."  Breece 
waited,  and,  of  course,  the  other  broke  the  pause. 

"Your  daughter?" 

"  Miss  Ravenel." 

Miss  Ravenel!     How  could  she  be  his  daughter! 

"  It  is  all  she  has  to  live  upon,  poor  girl.  But 
perhaps  you  do  not  know  her.  We  have  to  live  very 
quietly." 

"  I  have  met  her,"  Austin  said.  (We?  Surely 
Miss  Ravenel  had  almost  given  him  to  understand 
she  lived  alone?)  "  I  did  not  know  she  was  your 
daughter." 

"  Ah,  I  see ;  -of  course  the  name  misled  you." 
Breese  tapped  his  chest  mysteriously.  "  Family 
skeleton,  you  know.  Her  mother  and  I  were  divorced 
twenty  years  ago.  My  fault — all  my  fault.  For 
some  reason,  I  never  knew  why,  she  resumed,  not  her 
maiden  name,  but  her  mother's  name  of  Ravenel. 
We  were  in  Baden-Baden  at  the  time,  but  she  came 
home  to  get  the  divorce.  I  let  her  keep  our  only 
surviving  child,"  Breese  closed  pathetically. 

Austin  evinced  no  sign  of  sympathy. 

"  But  my  girl  remained  loyal  to  me.  And  now 
that  her  mother  is  dead,  I  am  her  only  means  of 

186 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

support."      The    old    gentleman    closed,    with    some 
majesty,  on  the  pere  noble  stop. 

"  Of  course  the  books  are  closed,"  said  Austin, 
after  some  delay,  dismissing  Miss  Ravenel  from  the 
conversation.  "  We  might,  I  suppose,  have  some  one 
at  the  meeting — 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  said  the  other.  "  And  send 
somebody  whom  they  can't  suspect.  And  now,  have 
a  drink  with  me?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Austin.     "  Good  night." 

He  looked  at  his  watch.  John's  dinner  would  be 
over  by  this  time;  he  might  catch  him  on  his  way 
home.  And  although  Thirty-fifth  Street  was  not 
exactly  on  the  way  from  Thirty-second  Street  and 
Fifth  Avenue  to  Eleventh,  Austin  was  rewarded  by 
finding  him  in  his  smoking  jacket  and — must  it  be 
confessed? — carpet  slippers.  They  bore,  on  a  field 
gules,  an  orange  lily,  and  had  been  worked  for  him 
by  a  little  Jew  girl  who  had  been  wooed — at  the 
tender  age  of  fourteen — and,  at  John's  suggestion, 
wed,  by  a  promising  young  shop  boy  in  his  class. 
They  were  her  bridal  present,  and  John  wore  them 
religiously. 

"  Haviland,  is  it  really  true  that  old  Miles  Breese 
is  Miss  Ravenel's  father?  " 

John  puffed  away,  as  if  thinking  how  to  express 
the  whole  truth  compendiously. 

187 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Under  God,"   sententiously  he  answered. 

"  He  has  been  telling  me  that  he  is  her  only  sup 
port." 

"  Liar !  "  John  puffed  away  explosively.  "  The 
other  way  about  would  be  nearer  the  truth.  I  fancy 
he  gets  all  her  income  except,  perhaps,  what  she 
earns." 

"  He  boasts  that  she  is  loyal  to  him." 

"  That  is  true  enough — she  will  not  cast  him  off, 
though  her  mother  did." 

"  Doesn't  she  live  with  him?  " 

"Live  with  him!  Did  he  say  that?  The  old 
reprobate.  She  lives  with  her  grandmother,  Mrs 
Warfield,  down  in  Maryland,  in  some  old  country 
place  that  is  all  that  they  have  left.  That  is,  except 
when  she  winters  in  New  York — to  do  good — and  to 
earn,  I  fear,  some  money.  Live  with  him !  The 
Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Children 
would  interfere.  Live  with  him ! "  John  glanced 
apprehensively  at  the  door;  but  Grace  was  making 
her  nightly  visit  to  the  five  little  child's  bedrooms 
that,  Austin  knew,  were  upstairs.  "  Look  here,  you 
may  as  well  know  it  all.  The  old  reprobate  lives 
with  Mrs  Beaumont.  It  would  be  quite  impossible. 
I'll  tell  you  what  he  is  in  a  word.  Do  you  remember 
Balzac's  novel  of  *  La  Cousine  Bette  '  ?  " 

Austin  nodded  his  head. 
188 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  And  old  Hulot,  the  reprobate,  with  the  lovely 
wife,  who  ran  after  every  petticoat,  from  actresses 
to  grisettes,  ruined  the  family,  broke  her  heart? 
Well,  old  Breese  is  the  very  New  York  counterpart 
of  the  Paris  General  Hulot.  You  might  put  one  for 
the  other.  Only  his  wife,  thank  goodness,  is  dead." 

"  I  saw  a  Mrs  Beaumont  at  Newport,  at  the 
Ocean  House." 

"  That's  the  one.  But  she  docs  not  dare  live  at 
the  hotel.  Thank  goodness,  his  daughter  does  not 
know,  though  he  would  take  the  risk  of  having  her 
visit  there." 

Suddenly  Austin  remembered  a  presence  in  the 
park  one  morning,  and  something  caught  his  breath. 

"  The  old  Major — there  is  something  mighty  fine 
about  Tom  Brandon — does  what  he  can  to  keep  him 
straight,  and  to  keep  them  apart,  at  some  slight  risk 
to  his  own  reputation !  He  says  it's  the  best  thing 
could  be  hoped  for.  She  keeps  him  from  others — it 
might  be  a  pretty  typewriter — she  has  no  idea  of 
marrying  him,  and  Brandon  says  she's  not  all  bad." 

"  Who  is  Mrs  Beaumont?  " 

"  There  are  some  of  us  who  know.  Not  Mrs 
Gower,  though.  Her  name  was  Flossie  Starbuck. 
Mrs  Beaumont's  real  name  is  Jennie  Starbuck." 

"Is?" 

"  Is.  Some  say  she's  Flossie's  cousin.  Any- 
189 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

how,  she  had  a  brother.  She  began  as  a  dressmak 
er's  apprentice  at  Rose  Marie's  upon  Sixth  Avenue. 
He  was  a  socialist,  anarchist,  had  been  a  railway 
laborer  and  risen  to  be  clerk.  Did  you  ever  hear  of 
Lionel  Derwent?  " 

"  I  have,"  said  Austin  with  a  pang. 

"  He  told  me  that  Rose  Marie — as  she  then  called 
herself — had  been  led  astray,  as  Jim  believed,  by 
Flossie's  brother  Si.  However  that  may  be,  Der 
went  met  him  shortly  after  addressing  a  mob  just 
before  the  Pennsylvania  riots  of  1878.  And  soon 
after  the  Starbuck  Oil  Works  burned  up  in  a  famous 
fire.  You've  heard  of  Starbuck  Oil  ?  " 

"  It  belongs  to  the  Allegheny  Central,"  said 
Austin. 

"  Precisely.  And  Mrs  Gower  still  holds  her 
stock.  Well,  one  Charlie  Townley  was  really  Jennie 
Starbuck's  protector  at  that  time ;  but  he  was  a  close 
friend  of  Si's,  and  the  brother  may  have  seen  them 
together.  Anyhow,  he  was  suspected  of  having  fired 
the  works  in  revenge — there  is  no  doubt  the  fire  was 
incendiary.  The  East  River  ran  with  burning  oil 
when  the  tanks  exploded.  But  the  only  man  on  the 
premises  was  the  watchman,  and  he  was  found  blind 
drunk  and  nearly  frozen." 

"  Didn't  they  pursue  Starbuck?  " 

"  Except  that  Derwent  had  seen  him  fire  an  oil 
190 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

well  in  Pennsylvania,  there  was  nothing  to  point  to 
him.  And  Derwent,  with  that  curious  Oriental  loy 
alty  to  his  friends,  even  if  they  were  pirates  or  mur 
derers,  that  characterized  the  man,  never  told  this  to 
the  authorities.  The  only  kind  of  criminal  that  the 
author  of  '  Piccadilly '  couldn't  tolerate  was  the 
seducer  or  the  swindler." 

"  Who  are  received  in  our  most  exclusive  society." 

"  A  month  ago  you  would  have  said  our  best. 
Your  moral  tone  is  improving,  young  man.  Well, 
the  watchman  would  only  say,  upon  examination  and 
cross-examination,  or  on  that  night  to  the  police, 
that  he  was  blind  drunk ;  that  he  had  been  blind 
drunk  all  night ;  and  that,  please  God,  he  hoped  to 
get  again  blind  drunk  in  the  morning." 

"  He  must  have  had  a  good  lawyer,"  laughed 
Austin. 

"  There  speaks  your  truer  self.  Well,  Jim  Star- 
buck  sank  to  be  a  common  thing ;  he  was  convicted 
of  robbing  a  man  in  the  street  with  a  slung  shot, 
obligate;  sentenced  for  ten  years;  and  at  Clinton  is 
said  to  have  boasted  of  the  Starbuck  fire.  And  Jen 
nie — when  Townley  failed,  she  went  to  some  Jim  Fisk 
sort  of  a  type,  and  after  he  died,  old  Breese  became 
her  easy  prey." 

"  Great  heavens,"  said  Austin ;  "  he  must  be  over 
seventy." 

191 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Sixty,  sixty,  young  fellow ;  look  at  Mary  Rav- 
enel." 

"  But  at  his  age " 

"  There  are  two  vices  will  never  leave  a  man — 
the  passion  for  drink  and  a  taste  for  women — espe 
cially  when  he  has  them  together." 

"  But  how  can  Miss  Ravenel ' 

"  That  is  the  mystery.  Of  course  she  is  posi 
tively  color  blind  to  all  in  the  world  that  is  not 
good — 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Austin.     "  She  is  no  fool." 

"  She  is  no  fool.  Neither  was  Galahad  or  Parsi 
fal " 

" '  Durch  Mitleid  wissend,  der  reine  Narr/  " 

hummed  Austin. 

"  Some  mistaken  sense  of  filial  duty,  perhaps. 
Or,  perhaps,  she  brooded  in  the  old  Ravenel  tower 
and  idealized  him.  Of  course,  when  she  came  to  New 
York,  she  knew  nothing  about  him.  She  had  never 
seen  him,  I  know.  Perhaps  he  wrote  to  her — proba 
bly  asking  for  money — I  give  it  up ;  certainly  her 
mother  had  had  to  leave  him,  and  would  not  even 
keep  his  name.  Grace,"  he  asked,  as  his  wife,  after 
a  preliminary  knock,  came  into  the  room,  "  why  did 
Mary  Ravenel  take  up  her  father  ?  " 

Grace  Haviland  at  five  and  thirty  was  a  lovely 
192 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

woman ;  Lucie  Gower  had  told  his  wife  that  she  was 
the  greatest  lady  in  New  York,  a  speech  at  which 
Flossie  was  generous  enough  as  well  as  intelligent 
enough  not  to  demur,  though  the  Havilands  had 
never  accepted  her  dinner  invitations.  At  forty, 
New  England  women  often  look  their  best ;  matron- 
hood  becomes  them.  But  it  was  not  her  beauty  that 
Austin  noticed  in  the  searching  glance  she  turned 
upon  him.  She  seemed  to  read  him  through  and 
through;  and  then  she  spoke,  as  if  now  reassured. 
"  Had  not  her  mother  cast  him  off?  "  John  inter 
rupted. 

"  I  think  her  mother  had  cast  him  off.  For  nigh 
to  twenty  years  she  never  spoke  of  him.  To-day 
old  Mrs  Warfield  will  not  hear  his  name.  But  be 
fore  she  died —  I  do  not  know  that  it  is  our  busi 
ness  except  to  explain  Mary's  actions,  and  I'm  sure 
they  never  need  it — her  mother,  Mrs  Breese,  Mrs 
Warfield's  daughter,  made  her  some  confidence — 

"  Mrs  Warfield."  The  name  recurring  again, 
Austin  Pinckney  tried  to  think  in  what  connection 
he  remembered  it. 

"  Mrs  Warfield  was  born  a  Ravenel,  of  South 
Carolina,  and  her  daughter,  Mary  Warfield,  she  mar 
ried  to  Miles  Breese,  then  the  richest  young  man  in 
Baltimore.  Why,  upon  the  divorce,  she  took  her 
mother's  name  and  not  her  own,  I  cannot  tell.  But 

193 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

before  she  died  she  told  Mary — our  Mary — all  about 
it.  I  have  sometimes  fancied  she  had  some  remorse, 
or  at  least  repentance  or  regret." 

"  That  cannot  be,"  said  Haviland.  "  The  scan 
dal  is  historic.  He  left  her,  openly,  at  Baden- 
Baden,  with  their  young  daughter,  and  moved  into 
Mrs  Reichmann-Wyse's  house  without  leaving  the 
place.  The  mother,  being  a  South  Carolinian,  where 
no  divorce  is  allowed,  hated  to  ask  for  it;  but  her 
very  self-respect  demanded  it,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
legal  right  to  Mary." 

Gracie  opened  her  eyes  mistily.  "  I  do  not  know 
— I  do  not  try  to  know.  There  may  be  other  than 
patent  infidelities — perhaps  she  had  not  tried  to  make 
the  best  of  him.  I  only  know  that  Mary  was  half 
ordered,  half  entreated,  by  her  dying  mother,  to  seek 
him  out  and  reclaim  him  if  she  could." 

They  were  silent.  "  What  a  flower  to  grow  on 
such  a  stem,"  said  Austin,  at  the  last,  when  he  saw 
that  no  one  else  would  say  anything.  "  But,  Havi 
land,  I  came  in  on  a  matter  of  business." 

"  Oh,"  said  John,  lighting  his  pipe ;  "  what  is 
it?" 

"  With  your  bank's  connections  in  Baltimore, 
and  quietly,  do  you  think  you  could  find  out  for 
me  the  present  ownership  of  Allegheny  Central 
stock?  " 

194 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Haviland  reflected.  "  It's  chiefly  dealt  in  in  New 
York,  though  they  transfer  in  Baltimore.  Mrs 
Gower  has  some — by  Jove,  and  so  has  Mary  Ravenel. 
I  might  find  out,  in  my  banks,  how  much  is  pledged." 
Now,  John  Haviland  was  a  director  in  half  the  banks 
and  trust  companies  in  New  York. 

"  That's  exactly  what  I  should  like.  I  can  find 
the  owners  of  record,  but  not  the  persons  by  whom 
it's  pledged." 

The  next  day  Austin  went  into  Mr  Gresham's 
office  and  asked  him  what  to  do  about  his  talk  with 
Breese. 

"  Did  he  tell  you  he  had  given  proxies  on  his 
daughter's  stock?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  has.  The  poor  girl  has 
only  a  few  hundred  shares — but  three  or  four  hun 
dred  dollars  would  tempt  Miles  Breese.  We  can 
easily  find  out — it  stands  in  our  joint  names  as  trus 
tees,  under  order  of  court ;  it  was  her  mother's  ali 
mony.  We'll  give  another  proxy,  in  my  name,  to 
some  discreet  person,  and  have  him  attend  the  meet 
ing  and  take  notes." 

"  It  mustn't  be  any  man  in  our  firm,"  said 
Austin. 

"  No,  nor  any  New  Yorker  known  as  such.  It 
would  excite  notice,  particularly  if  there's  a  contest 

195 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

over  the  proxy.  I  have  it."  And  Gresham  took  a 
proxy  slip,  and  wrote  on  it,  "  Magdalen  Aylwin  of 
Hadley,  Mass."  "  Will  she  do?  " 

Austin  reflected  whether  he  ought  to  tell  his  chief 
that  he  had  seen  her  at  the  Ocean  House  at  Newport. 
"  I  would  trust  her  anywhere,"  was  what  he  finally 
said. 

"  Any  extra  man  at  a  stockholders'  meeting 
always  excites  suspicion,"  said  the  astute  lawyer. 
"  We  hold  all  our  meetings  with  our  clerk  and  the 
local  attorney.  But  there  is  often  a  woman  or  two. 
They  usually  hold  five  shares — and  they  always  kick," 
he  added. 

"  Mr  Gresham,  you  were  Mrs  Breese's  lawyer 
at  the  time  of  the  divorce.  Why  did  she  not  resume 
her  maiden  name  ?  " 

"  You  must  ask  Messrs  Calvert  &  Calvert,  of 
Baltimore — they  were  her  local  attorneys  and  they 
may  know — perhaps  she  did  not  wish  her  known  name 
to  get  in  the  papers.  I  was  told  the  Maryland 
statute  allowed  it.  I  never  ask  my  client's  motives, 
unless  I  ought  to  know." 

And  for  a  second  time  in  one  week  our  eminent 
young  advocate  felt  himself  gently  set  down. 

And  going  to  his  own  desk,  he  scribbled  "  Mary 
Ravenel,  Mary  Ravenel  "  — then  "  Mary  Warfield  " 
— on  a  sheet  of  legal  cap.  And  beautiful  Miss  Ayl- 

196 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

win,  coming  in  with  a  sheaf  of  typewriting,  must 
have  seen  it ;  for  Austin  then  carefully  tore  the  sheet 
in  fragments  and  threw  them  in  his  wastebasket. 


XXVIII 

JOHN  HAVILAND  reported  that  there  were  at 
least  one  hundred  thousand  shares  of  Alle 
gheny  Central  stock  in  New  York  pledged  in  the 
loans  of  Mr  Phineas  Tamms  or  in  the  straw  names 
believed  to  represent  him.  His  own  particular  bank 
had  none  of  them,  being  of  opinion  that  you  never 
make  money  in  dealings  with  a  rascal ;  other  banks 
were  not  so  timorous,  or  so  scrupulous ;  but  of  them 
Haviland  could  hardly  ask  to  see  the  actual  share 
certificates  Tamms  had  pledged;  and  short  of  this 
there  was  no  way  to  determine  who  would  have  the 
right  to  vote  on  them  at  the  coming  special  meeting. 
It  was  of  course  possible,  too,  that  the  original  own 
ers — the  owners  "  of  record  " — had  given  him  prox 
ies.  That  he  had  been  buying  proxies  they  already 
knew. 

On  this  state  of  facts,  the  three  partners  prin 
cipally  concerned  got  together  one  day  in  consulta 
tion.  At  the  repeated  requests  of  Mr  Miles  Breese 
for  an  interview,  they  had  also  caused  a  note  to  be 

197 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dispatched  to  that  gentleman  stating  that  Mr 
Gresham  would  give  him  a  consultation  that  day  be 
tween  twelve  and  a  quarter  past.  It  was  now  near- 
ing  the  earlier  limit. 

"  If  he  owns  or  controls  one  hundred  thousand 
shares,  so  large  a  compact  block  always  attracts 
floating  shares ;  and  usually,  in  the  absence  of  organ 
ized  opposition,  it  will  control  the  election,"  Mr 
Gresham  was  saying  of  Haviland's  report.  "  There 
are  four  hundred  and  seventeen  thousand  six  hun 
dred  shares." 

"  The  books  were  closed  so  suddenly  that  it  looks 
as  if  he  had  got  the  balance  of  the  half  in  proxies," 
said  Radnor. 

"  There  is  a  statute  in  New  York  making  the 
buying  of  proxies  a  misdemeanor  and  the  proxies 
void,"  contributed  Austin. 

Mr  Gresham's  eye  glittered,  but  only  for  a  mo 
ment.  "  I  am  afraid  the  validity  of  Tamms's  prox 
ies  will  be  determined  by  Maryland  law.  And  what 
is  a  fine  of  a  thousand  dollars  to  Tamms?  What  we 
want  is  to  block  his  game  or  to  send  him  to  the 
State  prison."  Austin  looked  up ;  it  was  unusual 
for  Gresham  to  show  such  feeling.  Just  then  Miss 
Aylwin  came  in  with  a  paper,  and  said  that  Mr 
Breese  was  in  the  outer  office.  "  Tell  James  to  show 
him  in." 

198 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Good  morning,  Gresham — good  morning,  Rad 
nor — hello,  Austin,"  said  that  gentleman  airily ;  and 
while  Pinckney  was  wondering  what  intimacy  of 
theirs  had  justified  him  in  using  his  familiar  name, 
he  observed  that  he  was  endeavoring  to  give  to  the 
meeting  the  tone  of  the  Piccadilly  Club,  where  he  was 
somewhat  of  a  magnate,  and  which  Gresham  rarely 
entered.  "  Mighty  pretty  young  lady  that  clerk 
of  yours,  Gresham.  Where  have  I  seen  her  be 
fore? " 

"  Mr  Breese,  in  the  fifty  years  that  you  have 
been  an  ornament  to  society  "  —Mr  Gresham  spoke 
icily,  with  a  slight  stress  upon  the  numeral — "  you 
must  have  seen  all  the  pretty  women  in  New  York 
several  times.  May  I  ask  you  kindly  to  forget  that 
you  have  seen  Miss  Aylwin  at  all?  "  A  sort  of  ex 
plosive  puff  came  from  the  Celtic  Radnor ;  and  Mr 
Breese  flushed  red.  But,  after  all,  the  clay  of  which 
he  had  been  moulded  had  been  gentle  clay,  and  he  did 
not  answer  as  Austin  had  feared. 

"  You  are  right,  Mr  Gresham,"  he  said  with  some 
dignity.  "  It  was  none  of  my  business.  I  have 
come  about  Allegheny  Central.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  people  in  Baltimore  and  Philadelphia  have  sold 
a  great  deal  of  stock.  And  they  did  it  because 
Tamms  frightened  them  into  it.  And  Tamms  has 
got  it." 

199 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  That  squares  with  what  I  hear  from  Philadel 
phia,"  said  Radnor,  who  had  recovered  himself. 
"  The  old  women  clucked  that  the  fox  was  in  the 
poultry  yard.  The  Pennsylvania  Society  for  Grant 
ing  Annuities  to  the  Wives  of  Deceased  Soldiers  of 
the  Wars  of  the  Revolution  and  1812  and  Others 
tumbled  over  itself  in  its  hurry  to  sell  out." 

"  And  the  strange  part  of  it  is,"  Breese  went  on, 
"  that  he  circulated  the  rumors  himself.  I  don't 
know  about  Philadelphia,  but  in  Baltimore  Tamms 
appeared  openly,  and  shortly  after  sent  items  to  the 
newspapers  to  the  general  effect  that  one  Phineas 
Tamms,  of  New  York,  was  in  danger  of  securing  the 
property,  and  that  Tamms  was  a  damned  rascal  and 
would  wreck  the  road." 

"  He  spoke  the  exact  truth,"  said  Mr  Gresham. 
"  At  such  times  he  is  exceptionally  dangerous." 

"  And  the  effect  of  his  honest  advice,  of  course, 
was  to  make  the  lambs  cut  the  price  of  their  own 
wool  as  they  handed  it  to  him,"  said  Radnor.  "  I 
said  before,  we  must  organize.  We  must  have  a 
stockholders'  committee  of  protection." 

"  That  is  easy,"  said  Gresham  thoughtfully. 
"  But  it  must  cost  him  something  to  carry  it.  He 
started  buying  the  stock  at  120,  and  these  tactics 
have  got  it  down  to  85.  Where  does  he  get  the 
extra  margin  ?  "  For  answer  Austin  handed  him 

200 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Haviland's  letter.  Gresham  took  it  up  and  read  a 
sentence  Austin  had  just  underscored:  "'Of  late 
he  has  been  putting  up  as  additional  collateral  large 
quantities  of  Bellefontaine  Pacific  bonds  and  Alle 
gheny  Pacific  new  stock  and  withdrawing  the  Alle 
gheny  Central.'  Can  he  be  already  selling,  now  the 
books  are  closed?  " 

"  Bellefontaine  Pacifies  are  bad  paper,"  vouch 
safed  Mr  Radnor  alliteratively. 

"  The  bonds  sell  about  par,"  said  Mr  Breese 
anxiously. 

"  Are  quoted.     He  owns  'em  all." 

"There  is  also  a  good  deal  of — what's  this? 
Allegheny  Central  preferred  stock." 

"  Receipts  for  preferred  stock,"  corrected  Aus 
tin.  "  *  Issued  by  Tamms's  Brooklyn  Trust  Com 
pany  for  and  against  four  per  cent  preferred  stock 
of  the  railroad  when  issued.'  That  is  what  he  means 
to  do  at  the  meeting." 

"  Obviously,"  said  Mr  Gresham.  "  And  lease 
the  Allegheny  Pacific  and  guarantee  its  bonds." 

"  Faith,  he's  very  kind  in  telling  the  widows  and 
orphans  to  sell  out,  and  damned  good  advice  it  is 
entirely,"  said  Radnor. 

"  Most  of  the  widows  and  orphans  that  have 
been  doing  this  last  selling  have  an  office  on  Wall 
Street,"  said  Mr  Gresham.  "  And  in  my  opinion 
14  201 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

it's  not  far  from  the  office  of  Phineas  W. 
Tamms." 

"  And  the  others  had  better  sell  too  ?  Remember, 
my  daughter's  stock." 

"  We'll  see — we'll  see.  We'll  let  you  know  in 
time.  To-day  it  would  be  hard  to  sell  it  at  all,  if 
Wall  Street  has  had  time  to  read  that  circular."  Mr 
Gresham  pointed  to  the  notice  of  the  stockholders' 
meeting,  and  Austin  took  it  up  and  read  it. 

"  '  Allegheny  Central  Company.  For  the  pur 
pose  of  enabling  the  company  to  make  desirable 
Western  connections,  and  to  enable  the  directors  to 
acquire  by  purchase,  lease,  or  consolidation  such 
property,  rights  of  way,  companies,  or  franchises  as 
may  in  their  judgment  be  necessary,  and  to  provide 
the  ways  and  means  for  the  same.'  There  is  a 
breadth  of  style  about  that  I  rather  admire." 

"  Wall  Street,  though  not  sedulously  addicted 
to  literary  pursuits,  is  a  fine  judge  of  style,"  said 
Radnor. 

"  Markoff  took  English  One  at  Harvard,"  said 
Austin. 

Gresham  rang  the  bell.  "  No,  I  want  Miss  Ayl- 
win,"  he  said  to  the  man.  Mr  Breese  looked  out  of 
the  window.  "  Miss  Aylwin,  will  you  be  good  enough 
to  telephone  Haviland  &  Co.  and  ask  the  present 
price  of  Allegheny  Central?  Don't  let  the  office 

202 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

overhear  you.  Auerbach  &  Markoff  are  quite  capa 
ble  of  paying  a  salary  to  one  of  my  office  boys,"  he 
explained,  while  they  waited.  "  And  I  can  trust 
Miss  Aylwin." 

Mr  Breese  looked  as  if  he  were  making  a  men 
tal  note  of  it.  In  a  minute  she  came  back  with  a 
slip: 

"  Opened  at  84,  sold  to  71 ;  now  Tl1/^;  no  sup 
port;  selling  by  DeWitt,  Duval  &  Holyoke,  believed 
to  represent  insiders." 

"  My  God,"  said  Breese  devoutly.  Mr  Gresham 
looked  at  him,  as  he  tore  up  the  slip. 

"  Mr  Breese,  when  you  gave  Mr  Markoff  a 
proxy  on  your  own  shares,  did  you  sign  one  also  for 
the  stock  we  hold  as  trustees  for  your  daughter?  " 

"  Yes,"  stammered  the  old  man.  "  I — I  thought 
you  would  have  no  objection." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world,"  Mr  Gresham  went 
on.  "  And  for  the  same  consideration,  I  presume?  " 
He  paused  until  he  elicited  a  reply. 

"  Two  dollars  a  share ;  it  was  as  much  as  a  divi 
dend." 

"  Of  course,  of  course.  You  will  see  that  the 
amount  is  placed  to  the  credit  of  the  trust.  And 
now,  Mr  Breese,  I  think  we  can  do  nothing  more  for 
you  to-day."  And  that  gentleman  took  his  leave 
with  the  air  of  one  who  has  left  his  tooth  behind  at 

203 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

his  dentist's  and  the  place  still  aching.  Mr  Radnor 
betook  himself  to  his  private  office,  whence  were  heard 
certain  cachinnations  indicating  that  he  was  not 
wholly  abandoned  to  the  practice  of  his  profession. 
Austin  went  into  the  library  and  became  absorbed  in 
the  examination  of  a  complete  set  of  the  Maryland 
legislative  acts,  secured  by  him  recently  at  some  ex 
pense  and  rather  to  the  surprise  of  the  outer  office. 
Whatever  he  was  searching  for — possibly  the  charter 
of  the  Allegheny  Central — he  was  rewarded  by  com 
ing  upon  an  act  "  dissolving  the  marriage  previously 
existing  between  Miles  Breese  and  Mary  Ravenel 
Warfield  and  authorizing  the  latter  to  assume  the 
name  of  Mary  Warfield  Ravenel."  Curious,  thought 
Austin.  He  was  aware  that  Delaware  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  granting  special  acts  of  divorce,  but 
had  no  idea  the  Maryland  Legislature  had  ever 
done  so. 

There  are  but  few  ways  of  getting  uptown  in 
New  York,  and  there  were  still  fewer  at  the  time  of 
which  we  are  writing.  Among  them  that  of  Centre 
Street  and  Lexington  Avenue  is  perhaps  quietest,  if 
not  the  pleasantest.  You  escape  the  crowds  of 
Broadway,  the  noise  of  Fourth  Avenue;  and,  of 
course,  the  lower  Bowery  is  impossible  for  a  woman. 
The  surface  cars  are  objectionable  and  the  Elevated 

204 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

overcrowded.  Austin,  having  hired  for  his  wife  the 
brougham,  liked  to  save  on  carriages  for  himself; 
moreover,  he  preferred  the  air  and  exercise  of  the 
four-mile  walk. 

The  crowds  in  our  great  city's  thoroughfares 
vary  curiously,  to  the  sympathetic  observer.  To 
begin  with,  at  seven  in  the  morning,  there  is  the  east 
and  west  crowd,  through  Twenty-third,  Fourteenth, 
Thirty-fourth  streets — mainly  young  women,  the 
breadwinners.  Many  a  New  York  lady  has  never 
seen  these ;  and  would  be  amazed,  also,  if  she  saw  the 
crowded  foredecks  of  the  ferryboats  that  feed  them 

— young  women,  many  of  them  mere  girls,  bright 
faced  for  the  most  part,  thank  Heaven,  and  looking 
healthy — the  corresponding  crowd  at  sunset  looks 
rather  jaded  and  is  not  so  definite;  it  disseminates 
itself,  perhaps,  among  the  shops';  moreover,  the  hour 
of  closing  is  not  so  uniform  as  that  of  the  morning 
whistle.  Then  there  is  the  morning  Elevated  crowd 

— at  seven,  mechanics ;  at  eight,  clerks ;  not  so  many 
women  among  the  mechanics,  the  men  only,  it  would 
seem,  "  having  the  price  "  of  the  daily  fares.  Then 
there  is  the  nine  o'clock  crowd,  also  recruited  largely 
from  the  ferries — fathers  of  families  in  the  Jerseys 
and  Long  Island,  "  commuters,"  largely  upper  clerks, 
salaried  men,  or  partners  in  small  firms,  also  (it 
would  seem)  on  their  own  account  doing  an  express 

205 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

business ;  then  a  little  later  the  Elevated  "  swells," 
the  real  (as  they  believe)  New  Yorkers — they  who 
sleep  in  the  city.  While  in  the  afternoon  are  the 
crowds  of  shopping  women  (hardly  breadwinners 
these)  ;  still  later,  the  young  women  from  the  mati 
nees,  not  breadwinners  at  all.  Of  some  such  things 
may  Austin  have  been  thinking  when,  as  he  turned 
through  Astor  Place  into  Fourth  Avenue,  just  ahead 
of  him,  he  recognized  Miss  Ravcnel. 

XXIX 

AUSTIN  did  not  wish  to  appear  to  be  following 
her ;  yet  he  could  not  walk  on  without  over 
taking  her.  For  a  minute  he  feared  it  might  annoy 
her  to  have  him  speak  to  her  at  all.  He  finally  left 
their  side  of  the  wide  street  and  crossed  over,  walk 
ing  more  rapidly.  Then  he  crossed  back  and  met 
her,  face  to  face.  The  frankness  of  her  greeting 
dispersed  his  hesitation  and  they  walked  on  together. 

"You  are  from  Rivington  Street,  I  suppose?" 
(It  was  a  Friday.)  "A  better  place  than  Wall 
Street." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure,"  smiled  Miss  Ravenel.  "  Mr 
Haviland  says  that  Wall  Street  is  the  only  part  of 
the  United  States  where  a  man's  word  is  as  good  as 
his  bond." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  That  is  because  a  spoken  promise  is  simple  and 
can't  be  evaded.  The  moment  a  lawyer  is  hired  to 
express  it  in  a  bond,  another  lawyer  is  hired  to  dis 
cover  loopholes  in  it." 

"  I  have  heard  that  a  lawyer  was  the  keeper  of 
his  client's  conscience,"  laughed  Miss  Ravenel. 

"  All  the  same,  one  sometimes  wants  a  higher 
job." 

"  Do  you  know,  I've  been  thinking  about  our  talk 
the  other  day  "  — it  was  really  some  weeks  since,  but 
Austin's  face  colored  with  pleasure — "  and  I  have 
an  idea  of  something — not  perhaps  higher — but  of 
something  else  that  you  might  do,  I  believe,  very 
well ;  if  you  can't  teach  newsboys.  And  I  do  not 
think  it  ever  has  been  done." 

They  were  coming  to  the  corner  of  Fourteenth 
Street,  and,  as  the  crowd  of  carriages  delayed  their 
crossing,  Austin  stole  a  look  at  her.  She  was  speak 
ing  almost  eagerly,  her  fair  face,  on  which  every 
eddy  of  thought  had  its  quick  expression,  aglow  with 
enthusiasm.  "  I  am  sure  that  you  could  do  it." 
And  again — oh,  blind,  blind ! — might  any  passer-by 
have  noted  his  answering  flush. 

"  It  is  to  have  a  class,  many  classes,  and  not  of 
boys  but  of  men ;  and  teach  them  something  not 
merely  of  the  law  that  environs  them,  but  of  the 
right  that  is  in  the  law.  The  workingrnen,  the 

207 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

trades  unions,  I  mean;  I  know  they  are  so  often 
wrong;  but  I  know  that  there  is  right,  too,  on  their 
side.  And  I  know  that  there  is  right  in  the  law  that 
seems  so  cruel  to  them.  They  have  never  been  told 
so — they  do  not  understand  it.  They  have  no  one 
to  guide  them — politicians  are  their  only  counsel, 
walking  delegates  their  advisers — no  one  serves  them 
single-heartedly,  no  one  talks  to  them  that  they  can 
trust." 

Austin  reflected  a  minute.  "  The  difficulty,  of 
course,  is  to  win  their  trust." 

"  Yes,  at  first.  But  why  should  not  a  man  give 
his  leisure  to  it?  Or  even — I  am  sure  it  would  be 
worth  his  best  work — some  of  his  working  days  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  much  about  the  law  of  labor 
disputes 

"  Nor  do  I.  But — I  suppose  I  ought  not  to  say 
it  to  a  leading  advocate,"  she  continued  with  a  laugh. 
"  Yet  I  feel  sure  the  trouble  has  been  that  they  have 
not  looked  at  the  law  as  embodying  the  right,  but 
only  as  a  thing  contrived  against  them  and  for  the 
means  of  escaping  it.  Take  the  boycott,  for  in 
stance — the  sympathetic  strike." 

"  They  taught  me  in  Cambridge  that  every  boy 
cott  was  an  unlawful  conspiracy,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  suppose  you  know,"  the  girl  answered  dubi 
ously.  "  It  would  be,  if  the  motive  were  to  hurt  an- 

208 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

other.  But  suppose  the  object  is  only  to  properly 
benefit  themselves— to  do  together  what  they  might 
do  separately,  in  order  to  gain  some  wholly  reason 
able  end?  " 

Austin  looked  at  her  curiously.  Her  thought 
betrayed  a  wonderful  maturity  of  mind ;  for  he  did 
know  enough  of  the  law  of  the  subject  to  know  that 
this  was  deep  reasoning ;  and  yet,  like  a  woman,  it 
was  intuition  that  led  her  so  promptly  to  the  heart 
of  the  difficulty. 

"  Of  course  one  can  study  the  subject — beyond 
that  I  should  hardly  know  how  to  begin." 

"  Why  not  join  some  labor  union  yourself?  " 

It  gave  the  man  a  novel  pleasure  to  be  directed 
by  her,  but — oh,  blind  again ! — he  did  not  stop  to 
question  it. 

"  Could  I  ?  I  don't  know  a  trade.  I  once  did  a 
little  bookbinding." 

"  You  might  start  as  an  apprentice !  " 

"  Oh,  there  are  unions  everywhere !  The  very 
fishermen  on  the  Massachusetts  coast  have  formed 
one,  and,  I  believe,  their  employers  a  trust.  The 
oyster  trade  is  now  directed  from  Chicago." 

"  Coming  from  Boston,  you  might  begin  with 
codfish!  Or  perhaps  you  own  a  salmon  river?  The 
fishermen  in  the  Rcstigouche  need  protection,  I  am 
sure ! " 

209 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  girl  laughed  happily;  at  least  her  life  had 
left  no  trace  of  pedantry.  And  she  saw  things 
clearly,  did  this  Una,  with  her  man's  intellect  and 
her  woman's  heart.  And  how  beautiful  she  was ! 
No  one  else  seemed  to  have  noted  that ;  Pinckney 
hugged  the  discovery  to  himself.  He  had  not  known 
that  there  were  such  young  girls  in  the  world. 
Then  he  managed  to  turn  the  conversation  to  her 
own  affairs ;  she  talked  with  infinite  comprehension, 
infinite  pity,  of  the  life  of  working  women  in  New 
York ;  then  they  had  a  word  or  two  of  fun  on 
"  society  "  matters.  Alas,  in  a  moment,  as  it  seemed, 
they  were  at  Thirty-fifth  Street — John  Haviland's 
corner.  She  slackened  her  pace  as  if  expecting  him 
to  stop. 

"  I  am  not  going  there  to-day,"  he  said,  as  he 
looked  at  her.  Her  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed 
directly  upon  her  interlocutor  and  had  been  clear  as 
sapphires,  took,  on  his  look,  their  other  shade  of 
misty  blue — indescribable  in  words — it  was  as  if 
two  curtains  of  azure  mist  unrolled  between  their 
thought  and  his.  She  was  again  a  young  girl,  fol 
lowing  alone  some  delicate  instinct. 

"  Oh,  I  supposed  you  were — then  our  ways  divide 
here." 

Not  for  worlds  would  Austin  have  dared  question 
the  fiat. 

210 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  May  I  see  you  and  report  progress  ? "  he 
queried  humbly. 

"  I  have  to  go  home  in  a  few  days — to  my  grand 
mother  in  Maryland."  And  again  the  warning 
came,  and  to  his  sinking  heart  the  noise  of  the  avenue 
was  as  the  bubbling  ocean  in  his  ears.  He  raised 
his  hat;  for  one  brief  second  he  watched  her  walk 
away,  then,  that  he  might  not  seem  to  note  her  path, 
he  turned  and  rapidly  walked  on,  until  he  found  him 
self  in  Harlem. 

"  Love  comes  unseen ;  we  only  see  it  go."  Any 
man  or  maid  of  Mrs  Gower's  light  world  would  have 
seen  it  and  taken  it  lightly  enough.  Perhaps  it  was 
the  not  taking  it  lightly  that  made  him  blind.  He 
thought,  no  more  than  she,  of  any  bond  between 
them.  He  did  not  think  of  himself  at  all;  it  was 
only  that  his  heart,  which  had  been  heavy,  was  now 
very  light.  He  was  thinking  only  of  the  work  that 
lay  before  him  to  do.  As  for  Miss  Ravenel,  there 
was  no  need  to  think  of  her :  she  was. 

When  the  man  did  come  to  self-consciousness,  it 
was  with  a  pang.  Something  suddenly  put  Mamie 
Rastacq  in  his  mind,  and  the  shudder  of  his  degrada 
tion.  Nothing  yet  was  in  his  heart  that  his  being 
wed  to  Dorothy  made  wrong ;  but  who  was  he  that  he 
should  seek  a  young  girl's  friendship?  Bitterly  he 
remembered  a  Spanish  proverb,  that  a  kiss,  once 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

given,  is  never  past.  Yet,  like  a  ready  balm,  there 
came,  too,  some  new  comfort.  For  his  heart  told 
him  that  he  should  never  be  again  the  man  he  was 
that  night  in  Lenox.  He  had  saved  his  soul  alive. 


XXX 

MENTION  has  been  made  of  a  small  New 
Hampshire  city,  Nauchester  by  name, 
whither  the  business  of  a  certain  mill  had  taken  Aus 
tin  on  the  previous  summer.  This  mill,  at  West 
Nauchester,  made  dress  goods — prints  and  ginghams 
— although  the  business  of  the  neighboring  city 
was  the  manufacture  of  shoes.  And  it  happened, 
that  spring,  that  the  entire  working  population  of 
this  city  went  on  strike.  Now  with  this  their  law 
firm  would  have  had  nothing  to  do,  but  that  the 
women  and  boys  (there  were  no  men  except  an  en 
gineer  or  two)  employed  in  the  print  mills  struck 
also ;  and  these  were  still  in  the  hands  of  a  receiver, 
and  the  receiver  was  a  client  of  theirs.  Moreover, 
they  were  about  effecting  a  successful  reorganiza 
tion — may  one  explain,  for  the  contingency  of  a  lady 
reader  possibly  in  such  things  ignorant,  that  "  re 
organization  "  is  the  term  applied  to  the  process  by 
which  the  old  debts  of  a  corporation  are  got  rid  of 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

and  new  debts  contracted,  usually  by  the  simple  de 
vice  of  pretending  that  the  old  corporation  has  died 
and  creating  a  new  one,  greatly  to  the  satisfaction 
of  everyone  except  the  creditors?  But  the  borrow 
ing  of  the  new  capital  this  time  depended  upon  the 
mill's  being  "  a  going  concern."  No  one  would  lend 
new  capital  while  the  strike  lasted  and  the  mill  was 
idle ;  so  the  receiver,  their  client,  was  in  despair. 

The  mill  agent  had  informed  him  that  the  print 
works  strike  was  a  "  sympathetic  "  one ;  that  is  to 
say  (although  there  appeared  to  be  no  particular 
connection  between  the  two  industries  unless  they 
thought  the  heathen  or  the  negroes,  having  no  shoes, 
might  as  well  go  unclothed  entirely),  the  girls  in 
West  Nauchester  stopped  making  printed  cottons 
because  the  women  of  Nauchester  stopped  making 
shoes  and  brogans.  And  it  seemed  difficult  to  dis 
cover  what  the  true  cause  of  the  Nauchester  strike 
was.  The  newspapers  had  spoken  at  first  of  its 
origin  as  being  among  the  lasters,  who  objected  to 
the  use  of  certain  new  machinery ;  then  there  had 
been  talk  of  a  printed  contract  being  required  of 
those  who  returned  to  work ;  evidently,  at  least,  it 
was  no  question  of  wages  or  hours.  But  the  pros 
perity  of  that  portion  of  the  little  State  was  seri 
ously  affected ;  and  its  governor  and  the  mayor  of 
Nauchester,  with  a  self-appointed  committee  of  phi- 

213 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lanthropists  coming  from  Boston,  were  reported  to 
be  about  to  have  an  interview  with  the  strikers  en 
masse.,  to  see  what  might  be  done.  And  their  client, 
the  receiver,  not  wholly  satisfied  with  the  foreman 
temporarily  in  charge  of  his  mill,  who  had  himself 
come  recently  from  Nauchester,  was  anxious  that 
some  one  should  go  on  to  represent  him  before  the 
strike  committee.  And  Austin  had  offered  himself 
for  the  mission. 

He  had  been  to  the  Havilands'  on  the  Saturday 
following  his  walk  to  Harlem,  as  chronicled  in  the 
last  chapter ;  but  now  he  went  again.  He  had  been 
reading  up,  not  only  the  law,  but  the  literature 
of  the  subject — Wright,  the  Webbs,  Powderly's 
massive  magazine  of  misinformation,  besides  the 
usual  Government  publications — and  he  was  already 
aware  that  (at  that  period)  it  had  been  found  im 
practicable  to  organize  women  into  unions,  and  also 
that  among  them  a  sympathetic  strike  almost  never 
occurs.  Woman  is  a  born  individualist ;  her  mind 
is  essentially  practical,  and  her  motives  begin  at 
home.  And  Austin  felt  that  a  conference  with  Miss 
Ravenel  would  be  invaluable  to  him;  her  imagination 
might  furnish  him  with  the  clew  he  desired,  and,  for 
that  reason,  he  was  desirous  of  seeing  her.  Except 
by  accident  (he  reflected)  he  never  met  her  but  at 
the  Havilands'.  She  was  going  South  now  in  a  few 

214 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

days.  But  she  had  never  asked  him  to  call  (how 
could  she?  Miss  Just  Out,  with  her  own  front  door 
and  the  protection  of  maid  and  butler,  may  ask  a 
man  to  call ;  the  Nauchester  mill  girl  may  entertain 
her  "  gentleman  friends  "  though  she  share  her  one 
room  with  another  girl — not  so  a  poor  young  lady 
living  in  a  Lexington  Avenue  apartment  house),  and 
Austin  did  not  know  her  address.  He  found  himself 
quite  incapable  of  asking  John  or  Gracie  for  it.  So, 
instead,  he  called  there  every  day  and  regaled  them 
both  with  the  fullest  explication  of  the  details  and 
difficulties  of  the  Nauchester  labor  troubles,  stating 
with  some  particularity  that  he  was  leaving  New 
York  on  the  next  Friday,  the  Eastern  committees 
having  selected  Sunday  as  the  most  convenient  day 
for  their  efforts  at  peacemaking,  and  that  he  thought 
the  whole  affair  one  of  peculiar  interest  to  anyone 
concerned  with  the  industrial  condition  of  young 
women.  But  all  this  ingenuity  bore  no  fruit. 

So  it  happened  that  Austin  left  the  city  with  a 
heavy  heart.  And  also  (he  supposed  it  was  only) 
because  he  had  a  painful  scene  with  Dorothy  on  the 
morning  of  his  departure — if  scene  it  may  be  called 
where  the  dramatics  are  all  on  one  side.  His  had 
hardly  been  a  speaking  part — his  words,  in  fact, 
were  limited  to  the  simplest  statement  (in  answer  to 
the  first  question  with  which,  in  her  bed,  she  greeted 

215 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

him)  that  they  were  not  going  to  Newport  that 
year.  His  dislike  of  the  place  was  intolerable  (he 
had,  of  course,  to  put  it  on  that  ground,  not  on  one 
which  implied  a  doubt  of  her — indeed,  he  felt  none, 
in  the  vulgar  sense,  it  was  only  the  general  deteriora^ 
tion  of  their  life  there;  and  to  express  anxiety  for 
the  state  of  Dorothy's  soul  would  have  sounded,  in 
his  Southern  ears,  presumptuous  if  not  ludicrous), 
especially  in  a  boarding  house ;  a  "  cottage  "  was,  of 
course,  beyond  their  means.  "  Mr  Markoff  has 
taken  one  "  (he  often,  now,  had  to  hear  the  taunt 
of  Markoff's  greater  success)  ;  "  perhaps  if  you  cul 
tivated  him  more  he  might  help  you." 

Now,  Dorothy  (and  the  reader  knows  why)  had 
never  yet  herself  been  willing  to  invite  Markoff  to 
their  house  in  New  York ;  for  she  still  could  feel,  with 
that  animal  purity,  that  shrinking  from  the  physical 
contact  that  had  never  deserted  her,  the  horror  of 
the  touch  of  Markoff's  warm,  moist  palm  upon  her 
dainty  arm.  Austin  looked  at  her,  but  kept  silent; 
he  felt  that  he  could  not  have  been  counsel  to  such 
as  Tamms.  If  that  were  the  way  to  riches,  they 
must  remain  poor.  Then  she  threw  a  letter  at  him, 
across  the  coverlet. 

Austin  was  in  his  overcoat  and  gloves,  hat  in 
hand,  already  on  his  way  downtown ;  he  had  only 
come  in  to  greet  his  wife,  as  she  liked  best,  after  he 

216 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  had  his  breakfast  and  she  had  taken  her  coffee 
and  had  got  a  dressing  wrapper  over  her  nightdress. 
But  now  he  put  his  hat  and  gloves  aside  and  sat  down 
to  read  her  letter,  which  was  from  Mrs  Somers,  and 
imparted  the  news,  half  terrified,  half  triumphantly, 
that  Daisy  was  determined  on  marrying  an  Italian 
prince.  "  Of  course  he  has  no  money,"  she  lamented, 
"  but  that  is  not  the  worst.  His  life  has  been  most 
scandalous"  (the  underlining  was  her  own),  "but 
to  poor  Daisy  the  title  is  everything,  though  he  is 
only  the  fourth  son  of  a  younger  brother  of  the  real 
Prince  dei  Puzzi,  and  the  title  is  Parmesan.  Prince 
Giovanni  simply  lives  at  Monte  Carlo,  and  if  his  life 
is  more  moral  than  it  was,  it  is  only  on  account  of  his 
health,  or  because  he  can't  afford  to  keep  mistresses, 
and  the  married  women  won't  have  him.  You  must 
let  her  come  to  you,  at  Newport;  I  am  sure  that's 
the  only  place  will  cure  her." 

Austin  had  been  somewhat  amazed  at  the  evi 
dent  frankness  with  which  mother  and  daughter  had 
treated  the  other  questions ;  but  at  this  last  sugges 
tion  he  raised  his  eyebrows. 

"  Distract  her,  mother  means,"  said  Dorothy. 
And  to  his  suggestion  of  a  quieter  place — Dublin, 
for  instance,  or  even  the  Beverly  shore — it  appeared 
that  indeed  Newport  alone  could  offer  superior 
charms  to  life  in  Parma  with  a  titled  husband  at 
15  217 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Monte  Carlo.  And  then  Austin's  talent  at  cross- 
examination  at  last  elicited  a  mention  of  Van  Kull. 
The  Machiavellian  subtlety  of  this  imagination  had 
at  first  given  him  pause;  then  he  grew  indignant. 
But  to  his  suggestion  that  Dorothy  was  exposing 
her  sister  to  the  risk  of  having  her  heart  broken,  or 
even  worse,  Dorothy  had  shrugged  her  shoulders — 
Van  Kull  was  not  "  a  marrying  man,"  she  hinted — 
and  seemed  to  think  either  accident  better  than  mar 
riage  with  "  a  rotten  dago  " — a  speech  which  even 
the  sanction  of  slang  did  not  make  pleasant  on  her 
lips.  Moreover,  she  appeared  to  think  that  desper 
ate  diseases  required  desperate  remedies ;  and  finally 
hinted,  with  a  plainness  of  speech  of  which  our  South 
erner  was  still  incapable,  that  Van  Kull  might  go  to 
the  extreme  of  flirtation  with  a  young  girl  and  yet 
be  careful  of  her  reputation — "  a  girl  in  his  own 
class,  I  mean."  And  Dorothy  ran  over  a  Leporello's 
list  of  young  ladies'  names  and  pointed  out  that 
nothing  had  ever  been  "  really  known." 

Thus  it  happened  that  Austin  was  not  in  the  best 
of  minds,  when  he  took  the  Boston  train,  for  consid 
ering  the  more  real  evils  of  the  Nauchester  mill  girls. 
He  only  felt  like  cursing  the  stupidity  of  the 
founders — Alexander  Hamilton  and  Ben  Franklin, 
both  judges  of  female  character  too — for  abrogat 
ing  titles  in  America.  Here  the  bait  of  a  Parma 

218 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

marquisate — even  shared  by  a  dozen  others,  the  very 
title  outweighed  all  else.  It  would  have  been  so  easy 
to  sprinkle  around  empty  titles— for  it  is  not  the 
political  reality  our  young  women  seem  to  care  for, 
not  the  English  peerage ;  the  mere  honorific  to  the 
name  is  all  they  want — and  thus  have  gratified  the 
social  cravings  of  our  proudest  heiress  and  kept  the 
old  man's  honest  dollars  at  home.  And  this  without 
infringing  the  prerogatives  of  a  political  democracy, 
which  is  all  we  have  left  or  (say  the  demarchs)  hardly 
that.  A  duke  of  Virginia  or  a  marquis  of  German- 
town  might  not  always  be  attainable;  but  surely  an 
earldom  of  Brandy  wine — or  even  to  be  Viscountess 
Bunker  or  plain  Lady  Schoharie — would  now  have 
jingled  as  pleasantly  in  Daisy's  ears  as  Marchesa 
(Giovanni)  Puzzi.  And  then  the  order  of  the  Cin 
cinnati  should  be  hereditary  chevaliers,  thus  making 
all  their  honest  women  Ladies.  Possibly  not  many  of 
this  historic  American  nobility  would  now  be  found 
at  Newport;  and  this  also  would  make  no  harm. 
For,  as  to  Newport,  Austin  had  been  firm;  no  more 
of  it.  In  return,  he  had  volunteered  the  suggestion 
of  a  house  on  the  Beverly  shore ;  and  that  would  cost 
much  more  money  than  Clery's  cottages.  Well,  it 
is  the  first  duty  of  the  American  husband  to  provide 
the  money ;  the  last  duty  required  of  him  is  to  be 
with  his  wife  where  she  spends  it.  Beverly  was  far- 

219 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ther  off  than  Newport ;  but  he  might,  probably,  be 
at  Pride's  Crossing  (he  had  written  to  Mrs  Shirley 
about  a  house  there)  every  Sunday.  And  at  Bev 
erly,  Austin  thought,  he  would  feel  safe.  Exotics 
like  Killian  Van  Kull  could  not  breathe  in  that  rari- 
fied  Puritan  atmosphere,  or  the  ragweed  impart  its 
influenza. 

As  Austin  got  farther  from  home,  his  spirits  rose. 
The  tidy  New  England  fields,  foaming  with  houstonia 
— pity  the  brave  little  flower,  so  lavish  of  itself  in 
our  bleak  spring  winds,  has  not  got  a  better  name, 
for  they  are  more  like  dancing  nymphs  than  "  Quaker 
ladies,"  and  "  bluets  "  is  affected.  And  the  com 
fortable  gray  rocks  heartened  him;  the  frosty  vigor 
of  the  air.  Anyhow,  he  was  a  different  being  than 
he  had  been  last  fall.  Not  only  his  own  work,  but 
his  still  larger  impersonal  interest  in  these  great 
human  questions,  industrial,  social,  vital — now  gave 
him  interest  in  life.  Sympathy  with  other  lives  can 
fill  one's  own.  He  felt,  too,  that  he  came  to  this 
present  contest,  to  the  Nauchcster  operatives,  no 
longer  empty-handed,  no,  nor  empty-hearted.  All 
lay  in  that.  His  heart  was  in  his  work. 

So  he  sat,  with  the  governor  and  the  mayor  and 
a  lady  or  two,  through  all  the  pompous  platitudes  of 
the  Boston  philanthropists,  on  the  platform  of  the 
crowded  hall  next  day ;  hardly  hearing  them,  indeed, 

220 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

as  he  looked  down  at  the  packed  audience,  silent, 
respectful,  willing  to  meet  them,  even  to  be  lectured 
by  them,  more  tolerant  of  their  interference,  he  felt, 
than  he  would  have  been  had  their  cases  been  reversed. 
He  would  now  have  felt  himself  in  a  false  position 
had  he  not,  privately,  spent  the  previous  day  in  inter 
viewing  many  of  those  he  now  saw  sitting  in  the  hall. 
Nine-tenths  of  the  audience  (audience  was  the  word, 
they  listened  so  patiently)  were  women ;  the  few  men 
were  Poles,  Armenians,  Russian  Jews  (the  employers, 
of  course,  all  Yankees,  sat  with  them  on  the  plat 
form).  It  was  said  they  had  all  been  out  of  employ 
ment  eleven  weeks,  and  that  there  was  already  much 
distress  among  them ;  there  was  no  evidence  of  this 
as  Austin  looked  around  the  room.  Nearly  every 
woman  had  a  sealskin  coat  (imitation,  he  supposed) 
and  many  of  them  diamonds.  Their  chairman  was 
giving  them  a  carefully  prepared  historical  account 
of  the  vicissitudes  attending  the  introduction  of  ma 
chinery  in  industrial  handicrafts ;  at  times  he  lost 
his  place  and  fumbled  with  his  eye-glasses — he  was 
reading  from  manuscript — at  such  times  their  atten 
tion  wandered  and  they  looked  as  if  they  had  heard 
it  all  before. 

After  this  public  function  was  over,  they  went 
into  a  smaller  room  with  the  leaders  of  the  strike; 
and  here  they  got  one  step  nearer  the  real  issue  that 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

divided  them.  The  Lasters'  Union,  it  appeared,  had 
long  since  given  up  the  fight  on  the  new  machinery; 
but  all  hands  objected  to  returning  under  a  printed 
contract  to  be  signed  by  each  individual.  It  was 
general,  not  personal,  obligation  they  would  promise. 
Here  the  governor  of  the  State  launched  into  an  elo 
quent  exposition  of  the  sanctity  of  contract,  only 
stopping  just  short  of  expounding  the  Dartmouth 
College  case,  a  matter  they  would  hardly  have  un 
derstood  ;  while  he  did  learnedly  explain  the  doc 
trine  of  implied  contract,  and  how,  by  accepting  em 
ployment  at  all,  they  subjected  themselves  to  the 
reasonable  conditions  of  the  proposed  written  con 
tract;  the  only  new  thing  being  that  they  were  not 
again  to  strike  without  two  weeks'  notice  and  the 
service  of  a  writing,  stating  the  reasons  for  the  strike 
and  signed  by  the  officers  of  the  unions  affected  or 
by  the  leaders  of  the  strikers  if  individuals,  upon  a 
permanent  arbitration  committee.  But  most  of  the 
men,  it  seemed,  did  nevertheless  consider  the  signing 
their  names  to  any  document  a  serious  step ;  while 
many  of  the  women  looked  as  if  they  were  not  always 
prepared  to  give  their  reasons  in  black  and  white. 
And  then  a  clever  Irishman  stood  up  and  pro 
posed,  as  a  reasonable  counter  provision,  that  the 
manufacturers  should  also  sign  the  contract  and 
agree  to  an  additional  clause  that  in  future  no  em- 

222 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ployee  should  be  discharged  without  a  corresponding 
two  weeks'  notice,  or,  if  for  cause,  immediately,  but 
in  such  case  handing  the  employee  a  letter  stating 
such  cause,  which  should  then  be  reviewable  by  the 
same  arbitration  committee. 

At  this,  one  of  the  shoe  manufacturers,  a  down- 
Easter  named  Slick,  who  had  himself  risen  from  a 
bench  in  what  was  now  his  own  factory  (Austin 
afterwards  told  Miss  Ravenel  that  the  "  soulless  cor 
porations  "  he  found  much  more  broad-minded  and 
considerate  of  the  rights  of  labor  than  the  self-made 
mechanic  who  had  become  an  employer),  lost  his 
temper  completely  and  wanted  to  know  what  they 
wanted  anyhow.  "  Parcel  of  loafers,  d — n  em !  " 

"  Remember,"  said  their  courtly  chairman,  "  there 
are  ladies  present."  Mr  Slick  snorted. 

"  I  know  what  they  can  do,  and  what  they  can't 
do.  I've  been  on  a  bench  myself " 

"  And  been  the  meanest  pacemaker  of  the  lot," 
interpolated  the  clever  Irishman. 

"  The  whole  question  comes  down  to  this :  Are 
they  to  run  my  business,  or  am  I?  That's  what  I 
want  to  know,"  said  Slick. 

In  the  wrangle  that  ensued  Austin  took  no  part. 
He  knew  very  well  that  both  sides  had  substantially 
made  up  their  minds  to  the  terms,  save  for  one  mat 
ter  that  had  not  been  approached  as  yet — could  not 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

be,  perhaps,  in  that  mixed  conclave.  One  of  the 
girl  leaders — that  is,  an  unmarried,  handsome  woman 
of  twenty-five,  native  of  New  Hampshire,  a  high- 
school  graduate  —  encouraged  by  the  others,  yet 
after  far  more  hesitation,  Austin  had  thought,  than 
Daisy  or  her  Newport  friends  would  have  shown, 
had  boldly  spoken  out  to  him,  the  evening  before,  in 
the  favorite  ice-cream  saloon,  about  the  real  trouble ; 
she  was  here  now,  but  she  would  not  dare,  he  knew, 
bring  such  a  subject  to  the  fine  ears  of  the  Boston 
ladies  that  formed  a  part  of  the  committee. 

His  attention  wandered  to  the  walls  of  the  room 
they  were  in.  It  was  evidently  the  assembly  hall 
of  the  local  union.  No  pictures  were  on  the  walls ; 
but  there  was  a  printed  copy  of  the  union's  by-laws, 
some  framed  Federation  of  Labor  notices,  and  a 
"  Catalogue  of  the  Library  of  Lasters'  and  Binders' 
Unions  Nos.  —  and  -  "  in  handwriting.  Evidently, 
for  library  purposes,  the  men  and  women  had  com 
bined  ;  for  the  binders  were  all  women.  Austin  took 
his  notebook  and  furtively  jotted  down  the  list;  for 
these,  presumably,  were  the  forty  best  books  of  which 
we  have  heard  so  much.  The  list  differed  materially 
from  Sir  John  Lubbock's.  Some  were  mere  hysteri 
cal  appeals  to  class  hatred :  "  Esau,  the  Bank 
er's  Victim  "  ;  "  Bondholders  and  Breadwinners  " ; 
"  Speaking  of  Ellen."  And  most  of  these,  Austin 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

found  when  he  and  John  came  to  read  them,  con 
tained  lurid  portraits  of  a  corrupt  American  aris 
tocracy  :  "  Pray  You,  Sir,  Whose  Daughter  " ;  "  Is 
this  Your  Son,  my  Lord?"  "A  Pure-Souled  Liar." 
These  books  themselves  were  more  corrupt  in  imag 
ination  than  the  realities  they  tried  to  portray,  and 
Austin  wondered,  as  he  came  upon  another  title,  "  A 
Scene  of  Sin,"  why  it  was  that  human  nature  should 
find  more  interest  there  than  in  those  of  virtue. 
These  were  subterranean  literature  indeed.  Yet 
many  of  them  were  published  by  the  News  Compa 
nies,  though,  as  he  afterwards  found,  hardly  any  are 
to  be  found  in  the  public  libraries.  Then  there  was 
a  somewhat  better  class,  of  curious  and  not  uninter 
esting  stories  of  Bohemian  life ;  stories  of  young 
women  art  students,  of  their  successful  resistance  to 
city  temptations ;  then  there  was,  of  course,  the  usual 
classic  story  of  high  life  written  mainly  for  domestic 
servants,  "  From  Seamstress  to  Duchess,"  and  the 
like.  A  few  were  what  the  authors  would  doubtless 
have  entitled  "  scathing  arraignments  of  American 
political  conditions,"  likening  the  state  of  the  Ameri 
can  republic  to  that  of  Russia,  or  of  France  before 
the  Revolution,  and  written,  probably,  by  recent 
Slavonic  immigrants.  The  titles  of  these  told  the 
story :  "  The  American  Peasant  " ;  "  The  American 
Siberia  " ;  "  The  Coming  Slavery."  In  this  class, 

225 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

too,  one  might  put  those  written  against  religion : 
"Kept  in  a  Convent,"  "Address  to  the  Clergy." 
But  the  largest  class  of  all  were  mere  tracts  about 
socialism,  in  the  guise  of  a  story :  "  The  Way  Out," 
"  The  Strike  of  Sex,"  "  The  Coming  Climax,"  "  Why 
do  Men  Starve? "  and  Altgeld's  classic  "  Crimes 
against  Criminals."  The  politics  of  a  democracy 
were  satirized  in  "  The  Member  of  the  Third  House," 
"  A  Spoil  of  Office  "  and  "  Horace  Greeley — Farmer, 
Editor,  and  Socialist."  In  the  whole  forty  there 
were  not  more  than  six  or  eight  recognized  works,  to 
be  found  in  any  library — and  those  were  by  Tolstoi, 
Henry  George,  Hamlin  Garland  and  Robert  G.  In- 
gersoll,  with  "  Merrie  England,"  "  Looking  Back 
ward,"  Gronlund's  "  Cooperative  Commonwealth," 
and  a  translation  of  Bebel's  unspeakable  magnum 
opus  on  "  Woman." 

And  this  was  the  reading  upon  which  the  coining 
proletariat  (they  loved,  he  found,  in  these  books,  to 
use  that  word)  was  being  formed.  He  was  even, 
considering  their  titles,  surprised  at  the  wheat  to  be 
found  with  such  chaff.  But  then  there  was  only  one 
kind  of  wheat.  This  literature,  which  alone  had  the 
ear  of  the  people,  contained,  besides  socialistic  prop 
aganda,  only  two  things :  scorn  of  religion,  class 
hatred.  As  literature  it  was  dull,  dull  even  when 
indecent — yet  how  compete  with  it?  But,  withal, 

226 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

though  dealing  with  sin  for  the  morbid  pleasure  of 
it,  there  is  no  touch  of  levity ;  the  lofty  ethical  pur 
pose  runs  through  every  page  like  the  muted  violins 
of  a  melodrama;  they  remain  solemn  as  judges  and 
condemn  the  frivolous  with  as  little  sense  of  humor 
as  a  sensational  minister  pointing  a  moral  tale. 

So  Austin  mused,  and  awoke  to  find  that  an  agree 
ment  had  at  last  been  arrived  at,  much  facilitated  by 
Mr  Slick's  angry  departure  from  the  room ;  and  that 
night,  through  all  the  country,  would  flash  the  news 
that  the  great  Nauchester  strike  had  ended.  The 
chairman  buttoned  up  his  fur-lined  overcoat;  the 
governor  began  to  frame  his  announcement,  in  a 
sedulous  first  person  singular,  to  the  Associated 
Press ;  the  male  shoe  workers  were  filing  out,  when, 
at  the  last  moment,  a  girl  said  something  about  the 
troubles  in  West  Nauchester.  They  could  not,  she 
argued,  desert  their  friends,  especially,  she  added 
significantly,  since  one  of  the  wrongs  that  had  caused 
their  own  strike  had  now  become  theirs.  A  com 
mittee  of  conference  was  appointed,  and  Austin 
moved  for  one  on  behalf  of  the  employers.  He 
was  appointed  chairman,  with  power  to  name  two 
others.  He  selected  the  village  doctor  and  the 
Roman  Catholic  priest,  and  he  had  already  tele 
graphed  their  client,  the  receiver,  for  permission  to 
do  what  they  ultimately  resolved  upon. 

227 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

For  he  had  not  been  idle,  the  day  before;  the 
work  had  all  been  done  and  the  matter  settled,  Austin 
knew,  before  their  chairman  had  begun  his  speech. 
Guided  by  the  hints  of  his  friend  in  the  ice-cream 
saloon,  he  had  visited  West  Manchester.  And,  con 
sidering  their  reading  matter,  the  conditions  they 
had  asked  for  were  passing  strange.  The  mill  had 
recently  constructed  a  row  of  model  boarding  houses 
for  the  unmarried  girls ;  the  plumbing  was  perfect, 
the  rents  fair,  and  there  was  an  elaborate  code  of 
social  rules  to  which  the  occupants  were  expected  to 
conform ;  devised  by  the  wife  of  the  last  treasurer, 
who  was  a  Boston  millionaire,  it  was  humbly  imita 
tive  of  the  code  of  conduct  and  social  manners  that 
might  be  expected  of  a  well-bred  young  lady  on  the 
Back  Bay.  Now  these  rules,  they  had  insisted, 
should  be  abolished;  they  desired  complete  liberty  of 
action  and  no  police  inspection.  But  the  other  de 
mand  was  of  a  different  nature;  it  was,  that  the 
present  superintendent,  as  he  did  not  come  up  to 
their  moral  standard,  should  be  discharged.  This, 
as  Austin  reflected,  was  nothing  less  than  a  boycott, 
a  criminal  conspiracy  to  the  injury  of  the  individual. 
Nevertheless,  he  had  acceded ;  only  he  wondered 
whether  many  metropolitan  ladies,  on  or  off  the  stage, 
would  have  been  so  fastidious.  According  to  both 
the  major  and  Mamie  Rastacq,  women  liked  a  sultan. 

228 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

But  perhaps,  in  our  new  democracy,  both  Mamie  and 
Tom  Brandon  might  be  wrong. 

He  had  recently  begun  to  think  it  possible. 


XXXI 

THE  little  West  Nauchester  mills  opened  on  the 
Monday  morning  in  charge  of  a  new  super 
intendent,  temporarily  loaned  them  by  one  of  the  big 
Nauchester  concerns  for  their  help  in  bringing  to 
an  end  the  strike;  and  Austin  drove  out  there  early 
and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  wheels  revolv 
ing  and  some  hundreds  of  happy-faced  young  women 
at  work  once  more.  It  was  a  bright  April  morning ; 
the  sunlight  came  through  a  hundred  open  windows 
with  the  sweet  spring  air,  though  on  the  Pack  Mo- 
nadnock  the  snow  still  lay ;  and  Austin  felt  the  mill 
was  not  so  bad  a  place  after  all.  The  evening  be 
fore,  after  the  settlement,  he  had  seen  again  the  lead 
ers  ;  they  were  still  puzzled,  but  now  met  him  quite 
frankly,  without  suspicion  of  his  motives ;  although 
the  men  would  hardly  believe  that  he  was  a  lawyer, 
of  which  profession  they  took  a  cynical  view.  Some 
suspected  him  to  be  the  walking  delegate  of  the  rival 
labor  federation.  But  Austin  assured  them  that  he 
was  not  even  a  member  of  a  union ;  whereupon  they 

229 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

invited  him  to  join  one ;  and  he  profited  by  their  good 
will  to  obtain  a  letter  of  introduction  to  their  central 
organization  in  Boston. 

So,  this  work  done,  he  returned  by  the  afternoon 
train  to  New  York,  to  find  Dorothy  already  gone  to 
bed,  it  being  still  Lent.  Through  the  door,  she 
begged  him  not  to  disturb  her ;  she  had  come  home 
tired  from  a  dinner.  He  was  tired,  too,  and  he 
turned  away,  almost  relieved.  There  had  been  grow 
ing  up  by  tacit  consent  a  habit  of  evading  occasions 
demanding  intimacy  between  them ;  the  perfunctory 
kiss,  given  downstairs,  before  the  maid,  he  could  per 
form  ;  more  than  this  they  avoided.  And  in  the 
morning  he  had  his  breakfast  alone,  and  went  down 
town  without  disturbing  her. 

At  the  office  he  found  his  work  cut  out.  Mar- 
koff,  in  his  absence,  had  not  been  idle.  It  had  been 
definitely  announced  that  Phineas  Tamms,  now  only 
president  of  the  half-completed  Allegheny  Pacific, 
would  be  elected  president  of  the  Allegheny  Central 
at  the  annual  meeting,  and  that  meantime,  at  the 
special  meeting,  things  would  go  his  way.  In  high 
finance,  a  hand  is  rarely  played  out ;  when  one  side  in 
sists,  the  cards  are  shown,  or,  perhaps,  the  mere  abil 
ity  to  draw  them,  and  the  game  is  ended.  Meantime, 
the  Central  stock  was  very  low,  but  what  did  Tamms 
care  for  that?  All  the  value  which  he  had  squeezed 

230 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

out  of  it  he  had  simply  to  pour  over  into  his  Alle 
gheny  Pacific  stocks  and  bonds,  and  of  these  he 
owned  the  printing  press.  All  this  was  pretty 
gloomy ;  Gresham  was  depressed ;  Austin's  success  at 
Nauchester  seemed  to  be  already  forgotten ;  Breese 
had  been  badgering  them  with  letters,  and  even 
Levison  Gower  was  anxious.  The  cheaper  Wall 
Street  publications  were  already  terming  Tamms  the 
Napoleon  of  Finance,  and  predicting  his  control  of 
all  the  railroads  in  the  country ;  while  Augustus  Mar- 
koff  was  "  the  great  corporation  attorney."  Austin 
went  to  John  Haviland;  but  that  gentleman  could 
give  him  little  help.  He  could  only  keep  him  posted 
on  Markoff's  loans ;  meantime,  Mr  Breese  was  re 
ported  to  have  failed  to  protect  his  margin  at  the 
Old  Dutch  bank  he  dealt  with.  Yes,  he  supposed  his 
daughter  had  gone  home  to  her  grandmother. 

"  Then  we  can  do  nothing? "  said  old  Mr 
Gresham,  on  his  return.  Austin  said  nothing,  but 
began  delving  in  the  old  laws  of  Maryland. 

"  The  Miners'  Bank  have  got  involved  with  him 
to  the  extent  of  a  million  or  more — they  have  finally 
put  the  loan  in  our  hands  to  collect.  But  Tamms 
puts  us  off  with  promises." 

"  The  security  is  ample  at  present  prices,"  said 
Austin  now.  "  I  suppose  you'd  hardly  force  him  to 
make  an  assignment." 

231 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Assign  ?  If  I  could  break  him  forever,  drive 
him  from  the  Street — but  nothing  short  of  State 
prison  would  keep  him  away.  Look  here,  Pinckney  " 
(for  the  young  man  had  again  looked  up,  surprised 
at  his  elder's  manner),  "once  before  this  Tamms 
was  allowed  his  way  in  Wall  Street,  and  as  a  result 
my  oldest  friend,  my  first  client,  a  generous,  noble 
gentleman,  lies  in  a  dishonored  grave.  You  may 
have  heard  that  this  man  was  once  a  partner  of 
Charles  Townley.  His  wife  died  with  him,  and  soon 
after  Peter  Livingston,  Townley's  oldest  friend, 
whose  trust  his  firm  betrayed,  died,  too." 

"  Mrs  Rastacq's  father  ?  "  said  Austin. 

"  Yes — then  the  poor  girl  married  for  money. 
I  was  present  that  day  at  the  Columbian  Club  when 
Livingston,  who  was  the  oldest  member,  drew  the  ink 
across  his  old  friend's  name  on  the  list.  I  never 
shall  forget  it,  and  just  then  dear  old  Townley  him 
self  came  in,  and  he  had  lost  his  mind.  He  took  me 
for  his  dead  son."  The  telephone  rang,  and  Austin 
went  to  it. 

"  It  is  Mr  Breese,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  to  see 
me  '  at  once  '  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel." 

"  You  had  better  go,"  said  Mr  Gresham.  "  He 
may  know  something." 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  long  spring  storm,  and 
Austin  walked  up  under  gloomy  skies.  He  always 

232 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

walked  up  now,  and  this  time  he  took  Centre  Street 
and  Tompkins  Square — a  "  bare  ruined  choir  where 
late  the  sweet  birds  sang  "  to  him,  but  not  so  com 
monly  esteemed,  and  to-day,  it  must  be  admitted, 
naked  and  uninviting.  At  home,  where  he  called, 
the  skies  were  no  cheerier.  Dorothy  had  arranged 
the  tea,  but  there  was  no  caller.  "  Do  you  see  what 
the  papers  say  of  Markoff  now?  "  It  was  the  Even 
ing  Glare  she  pointed  to,  a  journal  not  highly  con 
sidered.  And  then  it  appeared  that  she  had  sent 
one  of  her  cards  to  Markoff  for  that  afternoon,  and 
that  he  had  not  come.  Austin  said  something  to  her 
about  the  Beverly  house,  but  she  showed  no  interest ; 
she  was  convinced  "  Pride's "  would  be  "  poky." 
Then  there  was  a  ring  at  the  door  bell,  and  she 
started  up.  "  Oh,  go  to  your  club,"  said  she,  as  Aus 
tin  bent  down  to  kiss  her. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  the  club,  I'm  going  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel " — an  unlikely  statement,  it 
sounded. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  where  you  are  going," 
said  she,  refusing  her  lips,  so  that  his  mustache  just 
brushed  her  cheek  as  Mamie  Rastacq  entered  the 
room  close  on  the  maid's  announcement. 

Austin  started  back;  he  had  not  seen  her  since 
that  night  at  Lenox. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  I  interrupted,"  said  the  lady, 
16  233 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

unabashed.  "  Petrus  Gansevoort  says  you  don't  live 
together  any  more.  Now  I  shall  be  able  to  contra 
dict  it."  And  she  extended  her  hand  to  Austin  with 
the  frankest  good-fellowship,  and  looked  merrily 
into  Austin's  eyes.  Perhaps  there  was  a  gleam  of 
malice  in  them ;  at  all  events  he  (we  do  not  pose  him 
as  a  blameless  hero — he  was  just  a  man)  was  angry 
enough  to  answer  to  the  effect  that  she — any  woman, 
his  gentler  self  corrected — must  know  that  a  kiss  did 
not  always  entail  such  consequences. 

"  And  whose  fault  is  it?  "  the  lovely  lady  asked, 
with  gaze  engagingly  direct ;  then  she  turned  laugh 
ingly  to  Dorothy.  It  must  be  admitted,  Mamie  was 
a  good  fellow.  But  Austin  got  himself  out  of  the 
house,  half  relieved,  half  angry,  that  their  first  meet 
ing  had  passed  off  so  easily.  She  evidently  felt  no 
abasement ;  she  preened  her  plumage  as  gayly  again 
as  any  song  bird  after  a  shower;  it  was  he  who  suf 
fered.  Yet — though  Austin  would  have  perjured 
himself  to  the  contrary  before  any  tribunal  except 
his  own  soul — it  was  she  who  had  held  up  her  lips. 
But  what  had  she  meant  by  speaking  so  of  Petrus 
Gansevoort?  Their  past  relations,  Gansevoort's  and 
theirs,  were  well  known,  and  no  one  had  ever  before 
dared  mention  them  to  him.  Well,  that  was  part  of 
the  price  he  had  to  pay.  So  he  broke  his  word  to 
Dorothy  and  went  to  the  club.  He  could  not  bear 

234 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Mr  Breese  at  present.  He  must  see  some  men — men 
of  Mamie  Rastacq's  world.  He  had  made  himself  fit 
for  none  other.  And  this  desire  was  gratified ;  for 
the  first  person  he  saw  lounging  at  an  avenue  window 
was  Petrus  Gansevoort  himself.  Naturally,  they  cut 
one  another.  Austin  went  to  another  window  where 
he  sarcastically  set  himself  to  reading  an  indecent 
French  periodical.  Fortunately,  in  a  minute,  Major 
Brandon  came  in.  He  also  was  in  his  most  cynical 
of  moods.  Austin  tried  to  tell  him  something  about 
Nauchester,  the  life  at  the  mills  there,  the  social  con 
dition  of  the  mill  girls  ;  he  asked  him  what  he  thought 
could  be  done. 

"  Don't  know,"  broke  in  the  Major  roughly. 
"  Great  mistake,  to  trouble  about  young  women's 
souls." 

Austin  was  silent.  He  had  tried  it  once.  Was 
the  Major  thinking  of  that? 

"  The  good  ones  do  a  d — d  sight  more  harm 
than  the  bad  ones,"  the  Major  said  next. 

Austin  was,  for  a  moment,  startled.  Yes,  he 
had  taken  cure  of  her  soul,  and  had  failed,  and  it 
did  seem  the  Major  was  thinking  of  that,  for  he  went 
on  further. 

"  Hear  you're  not  going  to  Newport  this  sum 
mer.  Good  thing,  too.  At  last,  you  remember — 'tis 
the  ring  finger  holds  the  curb." 

235 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  don't  like  the  place  for  my  wife's  sister,"  said 
Austin. 

"  Oh,  rot  your  deceased  wife's  sister — the  Eng 
lish  know  a  thing  or  two — keep  your  wife  alive. 
Good  story,  that."  He  pointed  to  a  picture  in  the 
comic  paper ;  it  was  of  a  dinner  party ;  a  man  was 
sitting  opposite  a  lady  whose  dress  was  slipping 
from  her  shoulders  and  staring  at  her  with  all  his 
eyes ;  the  legend  had  him  asked  why  he  stared  so  at 
his  wife,  and  the  answer  was  that  he  never  saw  her 
much  at  home. 

"  Dirt,"  said  Austin.  The  Major  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  Dirt's  all  very  well  in  its  place,"  said  he.  Just 
then,  an  amazing  thing  happened.  Petrus  Ganse- 
voort  calmly  walked  in  to  their  window  and  took  the 
chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  Major,  first  spreading 
his  chest  in  the  window,  with  a  deliberate  stare  at 
Austin.  He  was  a  heavy,  stupid  man,  already  veined 
in  the  face  and  with  pendulous  jowls.  Then  he  sat 
down. 

"  Major,"  said  he,  "  what  do  you  do  when  a 
pretty  woman  tells  you  she  no  longer  lives  with  her 
husband  ?  " 

Mr  Gansevoort  had  not  been  able  to  maintain  his 
gaze  on  Mr  Pinckney.  Had  he  done  so,  it  is  possible 
there  would  have  been  a  scandal  in  the  club.  But  if 

236 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  Major  felt  any  alarm,  his  face  did  not  mani 
fest  it. 

"  Well,  in  my  own  experience,"  he  answered 
drolly,  "  I  have  always  begun  about  then  to  study 
the  role  of  Joseph."  Then  he  shouted,  without  ap 
parent  connection,  "  Brazen  it  out,  Peter !  brazen  it 
out !  "  His  louder  tones  attracted  the  attention  of 
others  in  the  room ;  Gansevoort  colored  and,  some 
what  clumsily,  got  himself  away.  "  Those  gray 
eyes  of  his  looked  the  size  of  saucers,"  Brandon  said 
afterwards  to  some  friends  in  the  room.  They  had 
not,  of  course,  heard  Gansevoort's  speech;  and  Gan- 
sevoort's  eyes  were  small  and  brown  with  pinkish 
lids.  It  was  evident  that  the  Major  did  not  refer 
to  Gansevoort. 

But  Austin  cared  not  a  straw  for  Gansevoort; 
moreover,  he  knew  that  he  was  lying,  in  what  he  had 
said  to  Mrs  Rastacq,  that  is ;  here,  his  statement, 
fortunately  for  him,  had  been  general.  For  Doro 
thy  had  never  spoken  to  Gansevoort  since  their 
marriage.  Austin's  mind  was  already  upon  other 
things.  He  was  sick  of  this  place,  too.  Moreover, 
it  was  more  than  time  to  go  to  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel.  He  waited  until  Gansevoort  left  the  room, 
to  make  sure  that  he  had  nothing  further  to  say; 
then  followed,  a  few  seconds  after,  and  saw  that 
gentleman's  coat-tails  disappearing  in  a  toilet 

237 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

room.      Austin   then   walked  out,  into   Twenty-first 
Street. 

"  Dirt,  it  all  is,"  he  was  thinking.  "  Dirt  and 
money.  Money  and  dirt."  The  words  rang  into  a 
refrain  like  the  bells  of  St.  Helen's.  Breese  with 
his  Mrs  Beaumont,  Gansevoort  with  his  coryphees, 
Van  Kull  with  his  demivierges.  Yes,  and  frank,  per 
verse  Mamie  with  Mrs  Gower,  high  priestess,  and  her 
postulants  at  Flosheim ;  and  then  Tamms,  and  her 
husband's  millions ;  now,  old  Breese  with  his  little 
pittance — and  something  here  gave  a  grip  to  his 
heart. 

Breese  was  not  only  in,  but  anxiously  waiting  at 
the  vestibule.  "  I  want  you  to  meet  a  very  particular 
friend  of  mine — 'pon  honor,  there's  good  reason  for 
it — she's  largely  interested  in  Allegheny  Central 
securities — Mrs  Snyder,  of  Pittsburg.  I  have  ven 
tured  to  say  that  we  would  call  upon  her.  She  is 
stopping  here." 

Somewhat  puzzled,  though  the  mystery  of  their 
appointment  was  at  least  explained,  Pinckney  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  led  to  the  elevator  and  thence  to 
a  pretentious  parlor  on  the  third  floor.  There  he 
met  a  stout  lady,  in  a  most  splendid  afternoon  gown, 
but  faintly,  perhaps,  indicating  a  widow's  weeds  by 
its  alternate  display  (the  arms  were  large  enough  to 

238 


THE    COLUMBIAN    CLUB 


Brazen  it  out,   Peter  !      Brazen  it  out !  '  ' 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

repeat  it  several  times)  of  black  satin  and  pink  flesh 
seen  through  lace.  At  her  ears  she  wore  single 
pearls  the  size  of  cherries,  the  weight  of  which  had 
pulled  the  lobes  into  longitudinal  creases.  On  her 
mountainous  bosom  she  wore  a  large  porcelain  minia 
ture  of  a  man  with  a  black  mustache. 

"  My  friend  Mr  Austin  Pinckney — Mr  Charles 
Austin  Pinckney,"  said  Mr  Breese,  pompously  ac 
centuating  the  surname,  "  who  was  so  anxious  to 
meet  you." 

"  Delighted,  I  am  sure,"  the  lady  simpered. 

"  His  wife,  you  know — you  saw  her  picture  at 
the  ball  last  night  in  the  Crier."  Mr.  Breese  looked 
at  Austin  appealingly. 

"  She  is  very  tired  to-day,"  said  our  hero,  at  a 
venture.  Mr  Breese  beamed  approval.  Austin  was 
more  puzzled  than  ever.  Throughout  the  interview 
he  could  not  make  out  whether  Breese  was  showing 
him  off  to  Mrs  Snyder  or  showing  Mrs  Snyder  off 
to  him. 

"  I  think  you  know  Mrs  Arthur  Shirley," 
prompted  Breese,  to  Mrs  Snyder. 

"  I  met  her  on  the  committee  of  the  Centennial 
Exhibition;  I  represented  Pittsburg.  That  was 
when  Mr  Snyder  was  alive.  Pittsburg  is  a  bigger 
place  now."  And  the  widow,  who  had  contracted 
her  chest  in  a  sigh  so  that  her  husband's  miniature 

239 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  quite  disappeared,  at  the  last  words  expanded 
it  with  a  full  breath  of  relief,  causing  his  black  mus 
tache  to  appear  again  between  the  billows. 

"  She  is  his  aunt." 

Austin  had  been  forced  to  bite  his  lip  at  the  men 
tion  of  greater  Pittsburg;  and  now  he  really  felt 
that  he  must  say  something  about  business.  But 
Mr  Breese  demurred  to  mention  of  business  before 
a  lady,  and  she  asked  if  they  would  not  like  a  glass 
of  champagne.  Even  Mr  Breese  did  not  dare  meet 
Austin's  eye  on  this,  and  they  took  their  leave. 
Then,  with  a  humorous  contraction  of  an  eyelid 
normally  dropped  by  gout,  he  explained  in  the 
hall,  "  Mrs  Snyder  thinks  she  is  seeing  New  York 
society." 

But  Austin,  who  had  little  sense  of  humor  that 
day,  impatiently  asked  about  business. 

"  She  lias  got  some  stock.  I  met  her  at  my 
broker's.  And  now  I  want  you  to  go  down  to  Balti 
more  and  fight  that  meeting.  You'll  have  to  be 
there  some  days  before,  and  lay  your  wires  secretly. 
And  my  daughter  is  down  there  with  her  grand 
mother,  and  I  want  to  write  to  her  that  you  are  com 
ing.  Miss  Ravenel,  I  mean ;  you  understand,  I  am 
not  on  good  terms  with  the  grandmother  —  the 
mother-in-law  relation  is  really  an  impossible  one — 
but  my  little  girl,  I  am  happy  to  say,  has  been  true 

240 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to  me."  Mr  Breese  spoke  with  some  pathos.  "  And 
her  welfare  also  is  involved  in  this." 

(John  Haviland,  when  this  part  of  the  interview 
was  related  to  him,  said  that  the  damned  old  repro 
bate — for  John  would  swear  at  times — took  it  all, 
all  the  income,  that  is.') 

"  Mrs  Warfield's  pension  dies  with  her — you 
knew  she  was  an  admiral's  daughter?  They  are 
very  proud  of  the  name  Ravenel — he  went  off  in  a 
torpedo  boat,  I  mean  a  gunboat,  at  Algiers,  and 
never  came  back — 1815  or  thereabout — that's  why 
they  stick  to  it  so.  The  old  place  is  valueless,  and, 
I  suppose,  Warfield  saw  it  mortgaged  all  right — no 
slaves  now,  you  know.  I'll  write  to  Mary  that 
you're  coming." 

"  No,  no,  don't  do  that,"  cried  Austin.  "  I've 
already  told  Gresham  I'd  go  down.  But  really  I 
prefer  being  at  a  hotel — or  the  clubs." 

"  Well,"  said  Breese,  "  I  know  a  club  can  make  a 
man  more  comfortable  than  two  women.  But  you 
must  run  out  and  see  the  old  place — it's  rum — Rav 
enel,  I  mean." 

Austin  said  he  would,  and  got  away.  The  rain 
had  increased  and  the  streets  turned  to  mud.  "  Gold 
and  dirt — earth  and  gold."  What  else  was  to  be  in 
his  life  ?  He  got  home ;  Mrs  Rastacq  had  gone,  any 
how  ;  his  wife  was  upstairs.  On  the  hall  salver  he 

241 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

saw  a  note  addressed  to  him.  Why  did  his  heart 
give  a  great  leap?  He  had  never  seen  the  hand 
writing  before. 

The    note   paper    bore    the    Havilands'    familiar 
address,  but  it  ran : 

"  MY  DEAR  MR  PINCKNEY  : 

"Grace,  who  has  a  bad  hand,  has  asked  me  to  write 
you — she  hopes  you  will  come  to  lunch  here  Sunday. 
We  want  to  hear  about  the  Nauchester  people. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"MARY  RAVENEL." 


XXXII 

IT  rained  furiously  for  two  days,  though  it  is 
possible  Austin  did  not  notice  the  fact  particu 
larly  before  the  Sunday  afternoon.  He  was  at  the 
office  before  nine  on  the  next  day ;  at  eleven,  rang  his 
bell  and  asked  if  Mr  Gresham  had  arrived,  and,  if 
so,  would  he  come  into  his  (Pinckney's)  room  a 
moment  ? 

"  I  think  I  have  got  it,  sir,"  he  said  simply ;  and 
he  pointed  to  one  of  several  open  volumes  on  his  desk. 
Now,  it  should  be  explained  that  in  Maryland,  as  in 
most  States,  the  Legislature,  for  the  convenience  of 
the  multitude  and  the  confusion  of  the  lawyer,  en- 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

acts,  every  twenty  years  or  so,  a  general  "  revision," 
containing  all  the  laws  supposed  to  be  then  in  force ; 
and  the  careless  lawyer  is  apt  to  presume  that  it  does 
so.  But  besides  this  there  is  the  usual  annual  vol 
ume  of  laws,  now  numbering  a  hundred  or  so,  and 
amounting  to  several  hundred  statutes  a  year  to  each 
volume;  and  these  statutes,  ten  thousand  or  more, 
from  early  colony  times  to  now,  remain  in  force  un 
less  expressly  repealed  by  the  last  "  code."  And  for 
the  greater  convenience  of  the  lazy  practitioner  these 
laws  are  still  further  divided  into  "  public "  and 
"  private  " — an  admirable  distinction  if  the  digester 
distinctly  distinguishes !  The  law  to  which  Austin 
pointed  was  in  the  part  of  the  musty  volume  denoted 
"  private  "  and  was  the  charter  of  a  certain  Accomac 
&  Pocantico  Railroad  Company  granted  in  the  year 
1838.  Pinckney  had  underlined  part  of  the  section 
relating  to  stockholders'  meetings  which,  after  say 
ing  they  should  have  one  vote  for  each  share,  added 
the  proviso  that  "  only  the  true  owners  of  any  stock 
should  vote  thereon,  and  if  shares  should  be  trans 
ferred  in  mortgage  or  pledge  the  pledgee  should  not 
be  deemed  the  true  owner  for  purposes  of  this 
section." 

"  Does    it   mean,    not   even    if   the    certificate   is 
transferred  and  the  stock  put  in  his  name?  " 

"  That's  what  it  says." 
243 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Gresham  smiled.  "  A  wise  and  excellent  pro 
vision,  but  I  don't  see  where  the  Allegheny  Central 
comes  in." 

Austin  pointed  to  another  volume,  that  for  1868 ; 
it  was  the  act  for  the  consolidation  of  the  Allegheny 
Central  with  the  Accomac  &  Pocantico  Railroad 
Company,  and  covered  several  pages.  Toward  the 
end  of  one  of  the  middle  sections  was  a  clause  to  the 
effect  that  the  new  consolidated  company  should  be 
vested  with  "  all  the  franchises,  exemptions,  rights, 
powers,  duties,  or  privileges  of  either  constituent 
company,"  and  its  members,  officers,  and  stockhold 
ers  be  subject  to  corresponding  rules.  For  a  mo 
ment  the  old  gentleman's  eyes  had  glistened;  then 
he  put  down  the  book. 

"  This  will  never  have  escaped  MarkofF." 

"  I  think  it  will,"  said  Austin.  "  These  are  old 
Private  Acts.  The  charter  of  the  big  railroad,  given 
in  1849,  is  in  the  Public  Acts.  It  is  also  a  canal 
company ;  and  the  revision  of  1 878  only  incorpo 
rates  the  general  railroad  act  of  1852  which  only 
applied  to  railroads  '  hereafter  incorporated,'  and 
the  reviser  of  1878  sapiently  left  these  two  words 
out." 

"  All  charters  were  made  subject  to  amendment 
or  alteration  at  the  pleasure  of  the  Legislature." 

"  Not  in  1828,"  said  Austin.  "  The  Dartmouth 
244 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

College  case  was  decided  in  1819,  but  the  Maryland 
Legislature  didn't  discover  it  and  enact  the  usual 
safeguard  until  1832." 

"  This  Accomac  charter  is  therefore  perpetual?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,"  said  Austin.  "  My  only 
doubt  was  whether  a  stockholders'  vote  was  an  '  ex 
emption,  right,  power,  duty,  or  privilege '  of  the 
corporation.  The  only  thing  they  were  after  was 
the  exemption  from  taxes  it  contained." 

"  Young  man,  you  will  be  a  good  lawyer,  better 
than  I  ever  was,  but  I  can  help  you  now."  Austin 
blushed  like  a  boy.  "  As  a  practical  question  Mar- 
koff  will  never  be  able  to  rest  on  this  stockholders' 
meeting  if  he  votes  the  pledged  shares.  No  banker 
will  take  his  new  securities.  We  ourselves  would 
never  certify  his  precious  preferred  stock  to  be  legal. 
A  cloud  on  the  title  is  all  we  want.  What  I  fear  is, 
first,  there  won't  be  any  pledged  shares  voted — for 
that  you  must  go  to  Baltimore  to  find  out;  second, 
that  Markoff  will  be  onto  it,  particularly  if  we  pro 
test  the  right  to  vote  on  the  shares,  or  some  of  his 
local  attorneys  will,  if  he  is  not." 

"  We  won't  protest  the  votes ;  we'll  protest  the 
vote,"  said  Austin. 

Gresham  looked  at  him  admiringly. 

"  I'll  declare  the  whole  vote  illegal,  and  he  won't 
know  why.  And  he  won't  have  any  local  attorney. 

245 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

His  game  is  too  sharp  to  trust  a  confederate,  and 
his  brain  too  brilliant  to  divvy  on  its  inventions." 
Austin  laughed  with  pleasure. 

"You  mean,  he'll  hog  it  all?"  •  When  Mr 
Gresham  stooped  to  slang,  he  was  in  his  most  confi 
dential  humor. 

"  I  was  at  the  Law  School  with  him." 

"  Pinckney,  you  need  no  help  from  me.  The 
meeting  is  on  Monday.  Better  go  down  to-night 
and  work  around  Saturday  in  Baltimore." 

"  I  think,  sir,"  stammered  Austin,  "  Sunday 
night  will  do.  I  am  in  correspondence  with  the  bank 
there;  but  one  such  vote  is  as  good  as  a  hundred — 
after  the  meeting  has  adjourned.  Tamms  is  certain 
to  vote  the  stock  pledged  to  his  firm.  He  had  it  all 
put  in  his  own  name  before  he  borrowed  on  it  at 
the  Miners'  Bank.  And  the  meeting  is  not  till 
two." 

"  So  that  Markoff  can  run  down  on  the  morning 
train.  Miss  Aylwin  can  go  down  by  the  same — or 
stay,  is  he  sharp  eyed?  " 

"  Where  a  pretty  woman  is  concerned,"  laughed 
Austin. 

"  A  Jew  never  hesitates  between  a  pretty  woman 
and  a  dollar,  though.     Read  your  *  Nibelungen  '- 
remember  Alberich's  oath." 

Austin  knew  his  senior  to  be  a  man  of  culture, 
246 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

but  was  surprised  at  the  range  of  it.  "  '  Only  he 
the  hoard  attaineth  who  the  chain  of  love  for 
swears,'  "  he  hummed. 

"  Precisely.  He'll  think  she's  a  country-woman 
— that  she  got  on  in  New  Jersey — looking  after  her 
stocks.  Miss  Aylwin !  "  He  rang  the  bell  and  that 
young  woman  entered,  looking  very  pretty,  mature, 
and  dignified  in  her  simple  black  dress.  "  Miss  Ayl 
win,  I  want  you  to  go  to  Baltimore,  on  the  early 
Monday  morning  train,  to  the  meeting  of  the  Alle 
gheny  Central  at  the  Eutaw  House.  Take  short 
hand  notes  of  everything  that  is  said.  Mr  Pinck- 
ney  will  have  arrived  there  before  you  and  will  leave 
with  the  clerk  a  note  for  you  giving  his  telephone 
number.  And  kindly  consider  yourself  under  his 
orders. — Have  you  got  the  proxy  ?  " 

Austin  drew  from  his  pocket  a  proxy  slip ;  it 
was  for  200  shares  in  the  name  of  "  Miles  Breese  and 
James  G.  Gresham,  trustees  for  Mary  Ravenel,"  and 
signed  by  Gresham  only.  He  handed  it  over  to  Miss 
Aylwin. 

"  Am  I  to  vote  it,  sir  ?  "  She  spoke  to  Pinckney 
for  the  first  time. 

"  Only  if  there  is  no  opposition.  If  the  proxy  is 
objected  to,  desist  at  once,  but  make  protest  in  such 
a  way  that  it  can  be  proved  you  were  prevented. 
Notice  particularly  the  number  of  shares  announced 

247 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

by  the  clerk  as  present.  If  you  have  any  doubt  what 
to  do,  telephone  me." 

"  Austin,"  said  Mr  Gresham  as  he  went  out, 
"  Miss  Aylwin  must  not  be  the  only  person  in  the 
hall  besides  Markoff  and  the  clerk." 

"  I've  seen  to  that,  sir,"  laughed  the  pleased 
junior.  "  It  is  to  be  the  greatest  meeting  Allegheny 
Central  ever  saw.  There'll  be  a  good  lively  opposi 
tion,  if  only  to  disarm  suspicion."  Mr  Gresham 
again  started  to  go ;  then  he  put  his  head  in  again. 

"  Austin,  if  Tamms  votes  those  proxies,  couldn't 
we  make  it  a  fraud,  a  criminal  offense?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not,  sir.  He  does  everything  under 
the  advice  of  Markoff." 

"  Who  will,  I  suppose,  advise  him  how  to  avoid 
going  to  jail  but  not  how  to  avoid  going  to  hell. 
Well,  well — do  what  you  can." 

Austin  laughed  light-heartedly  as  he  closed  his 
desk.  He  walked  uptown,  humming  the  "  Rhein- 
gold  "  melody,  in  the  rain.  What  did  the  storm  mat 
ter?  Dorothy,  he  found,  was  gone  to  Tuxedo  for 
the  week-end;  she  had  recently  made  him  become  a 
member  of  that  institution,  which  had  special  apart 
ments  for  absentee  wives,  besides  "  kennels  "  in  case 
of  children.  She  had  not  even  left  a  note  asking 
him  to  follow.  That  did  not  matter,  either,  he 
thought  for  a  moment  sadly.  But  he  could  not  be 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

sad  long.  He  dined  early,  at  an  Italian  restaurant, 
with  some  labor  men — trades-union  leaders — whose 
acquaintance  he  had  made  by  means  of  his  Boston 
letter.  Then,  when  they  left  for  their  country 
trains,  he  went  to  the  Metropolitan.  The  opera  was 
the  "  Rheingold !  " 

XXXIII 

THE  great  storm  continued  all  the  night,  Sun 
day  morning  relaxing  a  little,  as  if  to  let 
people  go  to  church.  Shortly  after  noon  the  down 
pour  became  so  violent  that  even  Austin  noticed  it. 
In  the  morning  he  had  walked  to  Claremont  Hill  and 
back,  amid  the  budding  May ;  after  one  (he  did  not 
wish  to  be  too  early)  he  rang  at  the  Havilands',  and 
was  ushered  into  the  narrow  New  York  library, 
doubly  dark  on  that  dismal  day.  Gracie  Haviland 
was  sitting  on  a  long  ottoman,  and  beside  it,  as  he 
shook  her  hand,  he  was  conscious  of  another  presence. 
He  did  not  dare  look  often  at  Miss  Ravenel  even  in 
the  dim  room ;  her  cordial  greeting  he  drank  in,  then 
turned  to  Grace.  But  at  the  table,  she  was  oppo 
site;  it  was  natural  to  look  at  her,  as  they  broke 
bread  together ;  how  beautiful  she  was !  He  hoped 
that  no  one  else  might  see  it.  She  looked  more  like 
a  young  girl  to-day ;  he  wondered  how  old  she  was 
17  249 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

— twenty-two?  twenty-four?  They  wanted  to  hear 
about  the  Nauchester  strike;  as  well  as  he  could, 
Austin  told  them.  Again  he  was  struck  with  her 
strange  maturity  of  views ;  it  was  the  perfect  purity, 
the  grace,  of  her  own  spirit,  that  gave  her  prescient 
mind  so  large  a  view.  And  Austin  thought  of  that 
saying  of  the  Evangelist  about  the  Virgin — "  Jesus 
went  down  into  Nazareth,  but  she  stayed  at  home, 
knowing  these  things" 

He  told  them  of  the  mill  girls,  their  essential 
right-heartedncss  with  all  their  boldness  and  aban 
don,  their  surface  vulgarity ;  of  their  dislike  of  all 
dictation  as  to  how  they  should  lead  their  lives,  even 
of  the  salutary  rules  and  regulations  devised  for 
them  by  well-meaning  ladies. 

"  They  have  their  own  latchkey,"  said  John. 
"  With  the  latchkey  goes  everything.  The  bicycle 
was  significant,  but  the  latchkey  is  the  symbol  of 
complete  freedom.  It  is  ridiculous  to  withhold  the 
ballot  when  you  concede  the  latchkey." 

"  John,"  said  Grace,  in  a  tone  of  voice.  Mrs 
Haviland  was  a  leader  of  the  anti-woman-suffragists ; 
and  thereupon  John  told  Austin  as  much. 

"  How  distressing,"  laughed  Miss  Ravenel,  "  that 
in  these  days  so  many  virtuous  causes  should  have  to 
be  indicated  by  negatives  !  " 

"  The  woman  operatives  do  not  want  the  suf- 
250 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

frage,"  said  Austin.  "  They  are  thinking  of  other 
things." 

"  The  ballot  might  occupy  their  minds  instead 
of  flirtations,"  John  urged. 

"  They  are  not  thinking  of  flirtations,"  said  Aus 
tin  sternly.  "  They  are  leading  their  own  lives." 
He  could  not  bear  to  have  such  subjects  treated  flip 
pantly  in  the  presence  of  Miss  Ravenel.  "  If  they 
have  not  the  sentiment,  they  have  the  sense." 

"  It  is  the  '  Society  '  women,  the  '  club  women  ' 
of  small  towns,  the  women  whose  husbands  spend 
their  evenings  at  the  lodge,  mostly,  that  want  the 
suffrage,"  contributed  John,  who  saw  that  Austin 
wanted  to  treat  the  subject  seriously. 

"  '  Dowered  with  the  sway  of  life  or  death 
They  cry  for  coarser  tools,'  " 

said  our  Carolinian. 

"  I  am  sure  that  we  see  and  know  better  without 
having  the  vote,"  said  Miss  Ravenel.  "  But  if 
women  are  to  be  as  men — knowing  good  and  evil — is 
it  not  right  that  they  should  have  their  liberty  of 
action?  When  you  take  free  will  away  from  a  fair 
deed,  you  have  taken  all  its  virtue.  Perhaps  the 
mill  girls  are  right  in  demanding  a  larger  life,  cer 
tainly  one  not  monastic.  The  great  pity  is  that  so 

251 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

few  can  hope  for  a  woman's  natural  right,  the  right 
of  her  heart  to  love  and  be  loved." 

Austin  looked  at  her,  during  this  speech,  as  he 
might  have  looked  at  Thekla  in  the  arena,  which 
was,  perhaps,  what  suggested  John's  next  remark; 
it  was,  "  What  else  did  he  see  in  New  Hampshire?  " 

"  Well,"  said  Austin,  "  for  one  thing,  I  discov 
ered  American  literature;  I  learned  what  the  people 
are  reading."  And  he  took  out  the  book  list  he  had 
copied  and  passed  it  round  the  table. 

"  How  many  of  these  books  do  you  suppose  are 
to  be  found  in  the  Astor  library — in  any  library  ?  " 
said  John,  much  interested. 

"  I  don't  know — very  few,  I  should  fancy.  Tol 
stoi  and  George  and  Bellamy  and  Victor  Hugo — 
Garland,  of  course,  and  Altgeld,  in  some —  I 
tried  myself  to  find  Bebel,  at  the  Mercantile,  and 
couldn't." 

"  Ingersoll,  I  suppose." 

"  In  every  village  library.  He  advertised  him 
self  widely  to  the  lower  middle  classes  by  insulting 
the  Deity — the  thought  was  not  original." 

"  I  knew  you  were  a  churchman,  but  I  did  not 
know  you  were  an  aristocrat,"  laughed  the  older 
man. 

"  I  am  not.  I  mean  the  lower  classes  intellectu 
ally.  Some  of  that  lower  class  are  millionaires — 

252 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the   class,   when   piously   inclined,    that   go   to   Mrs 
Eddy  but  do  not  read  St.  John." 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  list?  "  said  Miss  Ravenel. 
"  I  should  like  to  see  how  many  of  my  girls  have 
read  these  books.  I  know  something  of  Helen  Gard 
ner,"  she  added  as  Austin  put  the  paper  in  her  hand 
hesitatingly.  "  After  all,"  she  merrily  ended,  "  they 
have  not  risen  to  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox !  " 

"  Or  any  poetry,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  fear  it  is  too  little  in  their  lives.  Do  you 
know,  I  have  a  mind  to  make  a  serious  study  of  this 
literature?  " 

"  Let  us  divide  it,"  said  Austin  hastily. 

"  By  all  means — a  reading  committee,"  said 
John,  seeing  Pinckney's  drift.  "  You  and  I  will 
take  all  the  plums — Grace  can  do  the  heavy  atheistic, 
Miss  Ravenel  the  social  and  economic." 

"  Oh,"  said  Miss  Ravenel  as  the  party  rose,  "  I 
must  read  '  From  Seamstress  to  Duchess.'  I  should 
just  love  to  be  a  duchess,  to  meet  duchesses!"  She 
said  the  word  with  the  prettiest  little  moue,  as  of  one 
who  enjoys  a  luscious  morsel. 

"  Then  you  must  stay  in  New  York,  or  go  on  the 
stage,"  said  Haviland.  "  When  do  you  leave,  by 
the  way  ?  " 

"  To-morrow.  I  am  going  down  to  Baltimore 
to-morrow — and  out  to  Ravenel." 

253 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  am  going  down  to-night,"  said  Austin 
frankly. 

"  Shall  you  be  there  long?  You  must  come  out 
and  see  us." 

"  Several  days.  I  am  going  down  about  the 
Allegheny  Central  fight." 

"  Allegheny  Central — why,  that's  all  my  vast 
fortune !  Mr  Pinckney,  you  are  my  attorney !  Of 
course,  you  must  come  out  and  see  us." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  if  you  won't  smoke,  Austin, 
I  must  leave  you  two  to  discuss  your  law  business. 
Gracie  has  to  take  the  carriage  for  an  hour,  but 
she'll  be  back  before  tea — and,  Miss  Ravenel,  you 
must  let  us  send  you  down — it's  storming  fright 
fully." 

(Her  attorney !  Her  knight-errant  had  been 
better,  but  the  possessive  was  everything.  Austin 
stood  like  one  who  sees  the  trees  walking.  He  saw 
Miss  Ravenel  walk  toward  the  fire.  She  sat  down. 
Was  her  gesture  one  of  dismissal,  or  did  she  indi 
cate  a  seat  to  him?) 

"  You  must  take  the  train  for  Frederick,"  she 
was  saying,  "  or  you  might  even  ride." 

They  were  sitting  in  the  dark  room ;  against  the 
street  windows  the  storm  was  beating ;  but  the  fire  was 
between  them,  and  through  the  open  window  behind 
him  came  the  fragrance  of  a  bough  of  blossoming 

254 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lilac.  But  still,  he  talked  of  their  one  subject  in 
common — labor  questions,  the  human  life  that  ebbed 
and  flowed  around  them.  Possibly  their  talk  became 
more  earnest  as  the  twilight  deepened;  certainly,  he 
did  not  laugh  any  more.  What  he  said  came  from 
his  truest  belief  —  no  half-believed-in  thing,  no 
thought  of  pose,  still  less  of  any  jesting  humor, 
seemed  worth  while.  As  it  grew  still  darker,  Miss 
Ravenel  seemed  to  grow  more  thoughtful — her  un 
fathomable  clear  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  embers. 
He  permitted  his  own  eyes,  now,  to  rest  upon  her 
face.  It  seemed  that  his  talk  must  have  come  to  an 
end. 

"  I  must  go,"  said  the  girl,  suddenly  jumping 
up.  "  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late."  The  clock  was 
striking  five. 

"  But  you  must  wait  for  Mrs  Haviland." 

"  I  really  cannot.  I  have  something  I  must  do 
at  home." 

"  You  cannot  walk  in  this  rain." 

"  Oh,  yes." 

It  was  now  pouring  a  very  deluge. 

"  You  must  not,"  said  Austin  firmly.  "  If  you 
won't  wait  for  John — I  must  have  a  carriage  myself 
— I'll  get  one."  They  were  in  the  hall,  the  girl  put 
ting  on  her  light  waterproof ;  Austin  did  not  stop  to 
help  her,  but,  umbrellaless,  ran  to  the  corner  of  Mad- 

255 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ison  Avenue,  where  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  find 
a  carriage,  and  came  quickly  back  in  it. 

"  I  beg  you  go  home  in  this." 

"  But  I  shall  be  taking  your  carriage." 

"  It  is  not  my  carriage ;  I  found  it  on  the  corner. 
Good-by."  And  Austin  held  out  his  hand,  with,  I 
suppose,  something  of  a  dog's  expression  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  are  all  wet.  If  it's  my  carriage,  I  can't 
let  you  walk  in  the  rain,"  said  Miss  Ravenel  im 
pulsively.  "  Get  in  !  " 

Get  in.  When  good  Master  Beckmesser  bids 
Walther  Stortzing  sing  of  spring — the  song  he 
learned  from  Walther  von  der  Vogelweide — he  says, 
"  Begin."  And  Walther  opens  his  song  with  the 
word,  and  the  spring  begins.  Her  two  words  fell 
like  some  such  melody  upon  his  heart.  Only  that 
Walther  was  conscious  of  his  song,  and  Austin,  still, 
was  as  innocent  of  any  conscious  love  as  was  the  girl 
herself.  He  did  not  recognize  it:  he  had  never  been 
in  love  before.  He  was  six  years  older,  but  it  was 
possible  the  girl  would  recognize  it  first. 

Austin  closed  the  door.  He  had  had  to  ask  her 
address.  The  cabman  turned  around  to  Park  Ave 
nue.  It  was  the  shortest  way. 

He  never  could  remember  what  was  said  upon 
this  drive.  Later,  when  he  knew,  he  would  try  to 
remember,  when  these  (ah,  how  pitiably  few!)  rare 

256 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

moments  with  her  he  would  count  over  to  himself,  in 
the  coming  lean  years  when  he  would  have  bartered 
seven  years  of  his  own  life  for  as  many  hours  of 
hers.  He  remembered  that  he  looked  at  her,  and  it 
was  Thirty-fourth  Street ;  she  was  saying  something 
to  him  and  her  gentle  eyes  looked  straight  before 
her,  eyes  so  gentle  that  they  were  redeemed  from 
softness  only  by  the  brave  straight  brow  that  made 
a  shade  above.  Now  they  were  at  Lexington  Ave 
nue.  All  was  over,  they  were  there. 

He  helped  her  out ;  he  held  the  umbrella  over  her. 
She  insisted  on  paying  for  the  carriage — a  half  dol 
lar.  Austin  put  it  in  his  pocket  (the  cabby  got  a 
bill  instead)  and  was  about  to  ring  the  bell.  "  No, 
no ;  you  see  I  too  have  a  latchkey,"  the  girl  laughed. 
Austin  looked  at  the  stained-glass  door,  the  inde 
scribably  squalid  entrance  to  a  New  York  "  flat," 
and  his  heart  sank,  but  not  for  that  alone. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Miss  Ravenel,  putting  out  her 
head. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Austin.     There  was  a  pause. 

"  And  don't  forget  to  come  to  Ravenel,"  she 
added  simply.  The  door  closed  as  Austin  bounded 
down  the  steps — no  more  carriage  for  him.  On  sec 
ond  thoughts,  he  entered  it,  and  bade  the  coachman 
drive  to  Central  Park.  (She  must  believe  he  went 
home  in  it.)  At  the  park  (the  carriage  had  been  a 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

memory  of  her,  and  the  world  smelled  of  the  dust 
of  roses)  he  dismissed  the  cabman,  stupefied  (he 
haunted,  for  weeks  after,  the  corner  of  Thirty-fifth 
Street  and  Madison  Avenue),  and  walked;  the  storm 
was  breaking  at  last,  in  the  Easter  Sunday  sunset; 
the  birds  sang  softly ;  the  earth  lay  under  a  Good 
Friday  spell.  There  is  no  maid  in  "  Parsifal," 
though,  only  Kundry. 

He  could  bear  no  man's  presence ;  he  got  some 
food  at  the  Claremont,  then  he  walked  way  back  to 
Eleventh  Street  and  entered  the  empty  house.  He 
called  no  one,  but  packed  his  things  himself.  If  the 
thought  crossed  his  mind  of  waiting  for  the  morning 
train,  it  was  rejected.  He  did  not  want  to  see  her 
again,  not  yet. 

The  river  was  full  of  lights,  but  after  a  few 
miles,  the  night  was  quiet  and  mild.  There  was  an 
"  observation  "  car,  which  he  found  he  had  to  him 
self.  The  night  was  so  mild  that  he  even  sat  out 
on  the  rear  loggia  (why  not  call  it  a  loggia?)  to 
smoke;  he  loved  to  hear  (as  he  could,  when  the  train 
was  still)  the  spring  noises,  the  tree  toads,  the  piping 
of  the  frogs  in  the  marshes,  the  thin-gs  that  are  in 
Schubert's  C  major  symphony;  still  smoking,  the 
gray  dawn  found  him,  reaching  its  long  pallor  down 
the  dim  still  water  of  the  Susquehanna ;  over  there 
lay  the  Laurel  Ridge;  somewhere  there,  she  had 

258 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

said,  was  Ravenel;  in  the  Baltimore  cavern  station, 
the  puzzled  porter,  but  proud,  took  his  tip  and  de 
posited  his  open  bag  at  the  hotel ;  after  a  bath  and 
coffee  he  was  on  South  Street;  there  he  worked  with 
vigor  through  the  morning;  at  two  he  was  in  a  tele 
phone  booth  at  the  hotel ;  in  half  an  hour  a  message 
came  from  Miss  Aylwin. 

"  I  think  they  have  counted  all  the  votes.  They 
at  first  refused  but  then  accepted  mine.  The  busi 
ness  is  begun.  I  think  Mr  Markoff  recognized  me." 
Austin  dropped  the  receiver  and  hurried  to  the  Eu- 
taw  Hotel,  where,  showing  his  proxy,  he  demanded 
admittance  to  the  hall. 

"  The  question  is  on  the  guaranty  of  the  Alle 
gheny  Pacific  bonds  and  the  issue  of  the  Allegheny 
Central  preferred  stock  as  read,"  Tamms  was  say 
ing.  He  was  standing  up  before  a  little  table  on 
which  stood  a  pitcher  of  ice  water.  Markoff  was 
beside  him ;  a  row  of  reporters  were  scribbling  be 
fore  a  lower  table  in  front.  Behind  him  was  the 
figure-head  president.  "  The  lease  has  already  been 
voted.  The  guaranty  on  the  bonds  and  this  new  stock 
make  the  consideration  for  the  lease.  Have  all  voted 
who  wish  to  vote?  The  meeting  is  now  adjourned." 

Austin  stood  up.  "  Before  the  meeting  adjourns 
I  wish  to  give  notice  to  its  chairman  that  we  shall 
contest  the  vote,  both  upon  the  lease  and  the  guar- 

259 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

anty,  and  upon  the  new  stock,  and  the  validity  of 
the  meeting  itself,"  he  said  very  distinctly. 

Tamms  sat  suddenly  down  and  his  face  turned 
white  beneath  its  freckles  and  its  wiry  red  beard. 
The  reporters  began  to  scribble  furiously.  Markoff 
looked  down  at  Pinckney  who  remained  standing, 
Miss  Aylwin's  minutes  in  his  hand.  Markoff's 
glance  traveled  from  him  to  her. 

"On  what  ground,  Mr  Pinckney?"  Tamms 
could  see  the  reporters  dash  at  the  name. 

"  On  the  ground  that  the  guaranty  and  lease  are 
a  fraud  upon  the  stockholders,  the  proxies  for  this 
meeting  unlawfully  secured,  and  the  stock  illegally 
voted." 

"  On  what  ground,  may  I  ask  ?  And  whom  do 
you  represent?  " 

"  I  represent  Messrs  Gresham,  Radnor  &  Auer- 
bach  of  New  York ;  and  they  represent  the  Miners' 
Bank  of  New  York,  the  Philadelphia  Society  for 
Granting  Annuities  to  Survivors  of  the  War  of  1812, 
the  South  Bank  and  the  Calvert  Trust  Company  of 
Baltimore,  and  thirty-seven  private  stockholders,  ac 
cording  to  a  list  I  have  here — all  whose  stock  has 
been  voted  by  you  as  representing  pledgees,  not 
real  owners  as  the  law  of  Maryland  requires." 

"  The  law  of  Maryland  ?  Here,  Mr  Pinckney, 
is  the  code,"  smiled  Markoff. 

260 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  refer  to  the  law  of  the  Allegheny  Central 
Railroad  &  Canal  Company,  its  own  charter  as  shown 
in  the  consolidation  act  with  the  Accomac  &  Pocan- 
tico  Railroad,  special  laws  of  Maryland,  Private 
Acts  of  1838." 

For  the  first  time,  Pinckney  could  see  Markoff 
blanch — blanch  as  he  had  seen  the  Yale  team  whiten 
when,  in  Cambridge,  he  had  played  guard  and  on 
the  second  down  they  failed  to  hold. 

A  reporter  spoke  up  deferentially.  "  May  I 
trouble  you  for  that  reference,  Mr  Pinckney?  " 

Markoff  turned  and  had  a  whispered  colloquy 
with  Tamms.  That  gentleman  seemed  to  breathe 
again.  His  color  came  back,  and  he  began  rolling 
up  little  paper  pellets  and  throwing  them  around 
the  table. 

"  I  move  the  meeting  adjourn — for  one  week," 
said  Markoff. 

XXXIV 

THIS,  which  should,  in  any  biography  of 
Charles  Austin  Pinckney,  be  the  longest 
chapter  in  the  book,  always  seemed  the  briefest  day 
of  his  own  memories,  and  will  doubtless  (when  Pinck- 
ney's  biography  appears,  as  now  that  he  is  Secretary 
of  the  Interior  seems  likely)  by  his  biographer  be 

261 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

omitted  entirely.  For  what  biographer  even  knows 
the  real  life  of  the  man  he  is  writing  about?  Ex 
cept  as  in  the  case  of  some  men,  usually  poets  or 
libertines,  who  have  consciously  revealed  themselves. 
These  we  know  a  good  deal  about,  from  Dante, 
Heine,  de  Musset,  to  Casanova,  Cellini,  de  Retz ;  as 
in  Rousseau  or  (we  may  even  suspect)  St.  Augus 
tine.  What  did  ladylike  Mrs  Oliphant  know  of  the 
real  Browning?  Egregious  Lockhart  of  the  real 
Scott?  Even  Madame  Hanska  of  the  real  Balzac? 
Balzac  was  talking  to  Madame  Hanska,  as  we  say, 
"  through  his  hat,"  as  a  Frenchman  always  does  when 
he  writes  to  a  woman. 

But  we,  who  are  writers  of  fiction  and  not  of 
biography,  know  the  truth.  We  must  stick  to  fact. 
It  is,  or  should  be,  our  business  to  portray  our  heroes 
and  heroines  as  they  really  are — even  to  dwell  upon 
those  omitted  chapters  which  were  the  evening  and 
the  morning  of  the  life  we  study.  Yet  even  master 
Thackeray  and  master  (for  he  wrote  the  truth  in 
his  fiction)  Balzac  leave  much — Balzac  not  quite  so 
much — for  the  reader's  imagination  to  supply.  They 
tell  you,  he  loved  her,  she  did  not  love  him,  almost 
with  the  simplicity  of  Heine's  formula: 

"  Sie  war  liebenswiirdig  und  er  liebte  sie, 
Er  war  nicht  liebenswiirdig  und  sie  liebte  ihn 
nicht — 

262 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

but  they  do  not  tell  you  what  she  said  to  make  him 
love  her,  what  he  said  to  make  her  love  him  not. 
Thackeray's  intellect  probably  recoiled  from  record 
ing  Amelia's  love  talk,  but  he  does  not  even  tell  us 
what  Becky  Sharp  said.  He  tells  us  she  was  very 
clever — he  does  not  give  us  auricular  demonstration 
of  the  fact.  Shakespeare  goes  something  farther  with 
Mercutio ;  but  then  Shakespeare  was  ( as  the  Gospel 
Society  man  said  of  St.  Paul)  "  our  best  contributor." 
It  is  true,  as  the  Catholics  told  the  Paulicians,  St. 
Paul  says  a  good  many  things  that  ain't  so — as  two 
hundred  thousand  Albigenses  doubtless,  while  they 
burned  alive,  realized.  Balzac,  too,  really  gives  us 
something  of  the  conversation  and  moeurs  of  his 
great  ladies,  his  clever  rascals,  his  women  of  the 
town.  Madame  Marneffe  opens  her  lips  to  us  as  well 
as  her  dainty  throat;  the  contemporary  American 
novelist  tells  you  of  his  heroine's  ebon  tresses,  her 
violet  eyes,  her  shell-like  ears,  her  pouting  lips,  but 
lets  it  go  at  that.  The  lips  pout  in  silence,  the 
brilliant  brain  we  accept  as  a  working  hypothesis. 

I  dare  say,  the  other  things  would  bore  the 
reader.  Richardson  surely  wearied  us  of  his  Cla 
rissa,  his  Grandison ;  and  for  us  moderns  his  chaste 
correspondent  must  be  abridged,  the  Lovelace  ex 
purgated.  I  dare  say  this  chapter  will  weary  the 
reader — if  I  dare  go  on !  And  what  will  he  think  of 

263 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

my  poor  hero  when  we  are  through  with  it?  Wisely 
his  biography,  waiting  for  the  Carnegie  libraries  of 
the  land,  will  have  no  use  for  it — for  this  chapter  of 
his  life. 

"  My  grandmamma,  my  grandmamma, 
She  had  a  leathern  Bible, 
And  there  she  enters  all  our  dates — 
The  day  we're  born,  the  day  we  die,  the  day  we 

had  the  measles. 
She  never  entered  on  its  page 
The  day  my  heart  was  broken." 

O  cousin  Amalie,  cousin  Amalie,  was  Heine  think 
ing  alone  of  you  when  he  wrote  these  lines  ?  I  wonder. 
He  had,  we  know,  a  pretty  young  wife,  a  nice  little 
girl,  cuddible,  like  a  kitten,  pretty  as  our  Dorothy 
and  without  her  social  ambition,  content  to  be  at 
home  and  make  love  to  him.  Clever  Madame  Jou- 
bert  (la  Mouche,  he  called  her),  who  lighted  the  last 
turns  of  Heine's  path  through  life,  thinks  (a  little 
jealous,  perhaps?)  that  she  does  so  rather  too  much. 
Was  Dante  thinking  always  of  Mrs  Portinari — when 
he  wrote  his  Provencal  love  song,  for  instance? 

But  they,  Charles  Pinckney  and  Mary  Ravenel, 
talked  of  Dante  to-day ;  it  must  come  in  this  chap 
ter,  and  here  we  are,  still  shivering  on  the  brink  of  it. 

Austin  went  straight  from  that  railroad  meeting 
to  a  stable  where  he  picked  out  a  saddle  horse;  then, 

264 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

stopping  only  to  put  on  his  riding  things  and  send  a 
telegram,  he  was  off  and  riding  through  the  park  by 
three  of  the  spring  afternoon. 

Fourteen  miles,  the  map  told  him,  lay  between 
there  and  Ravenel,  which  lay  in  the  first  rising  foot 
hills  of  the  Laurel  Mountains.  They  were  quickly 
covered ;  and  at  five  Austin  found  himself  entering, 
between  two  great  posts  of  shattered  masonry,  an 
old,  old  avenue,  stretching  straight  away  between 
two  rows  on  either  side  of  forest  trees.  The  trees 
were  grand,  but  so  old  that  they  were  dying;  the 
avenue  unkept ;  the  heaps  of  last  year's  leaves  still 
lay  in  the  beechen  hollows,  the  drift  of  magnolia 
petals,  crimson  and  white,  lay  on  the  new  grass. 
Tulip  poplars,  magnolia  grandiflora,  alternated  with 
great  sycamores  and  walnut;  soon,  by  their  side 
came  down  a  brawling  "  run,"  tumbled  freshly  into 
Maryland  from  Pennsylvania  hills.  Something  re 
minded  our  hero  "  as  he  rode  "  of  the  little  stream 
that  redeemed  Mrs  Arthur  Shirley's  vulgar  lawn  and 
then  made  one  quick  scamper  for  the  sea.  Now, 
round  hills  were  rising  on  each  side,  brushing  the  blue 
with  a  wash  of  tender  green ;  on  the  left  he  could  see 
rows  of  empty  whitewashed  cabins ;  the  stream  to 
the  right  ran  under  two  dismantled  old  stone  mills ; 
a  cow  or  two  grazed  in  what  had  been  a  deer  park ; 
gardens  appeared,  marvelous  in  their  box  and  yew, 
18  265 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  beds  neglected,  rising  in  a  terrace  to  a  wall  gar 
den  backed  upon  the  stone  wall  of  a  huge  barn,  such 
as  hitherto  he  had  seen  only  in  Gloucestershire,  in 
England,  and  upon  a  long  retaining  wall,  mellow  of 
brown  stone  and  green  moss,  bulging  irregularly 
here  and  there  where  not  supported  by  its  huge  stone 
buttresses.  Then  the  avenue  plunged  through  a 
dark  archway,  cut  in  the  tall  box  trees,  whose  warm, 
old-time  aroma  Austin  never  forgot ;  and  he  appeared 
before  the  portico  of  a  long,  low,  white  colonnaded 
house. 

Austin  dismounted  and  pulled  the  bell  at  the 
front  door ;  its  reluctant  clangor  reverberated  as 
through  an  empty  house.  The  many  minutes  that 
elapsed  indicated  little  habitude  of  visits ;  Austin  was 
quite  willing  to  wait  there,  and  he  did  not  ring  again. 
At  last  there  was  a  sound  of  shuffling  steps,  the  door 
groaned  open,  and  there  appeared  an  old  white- 
headed  negro,  shabby  and  of  courtly  manners. 

"  Mrs  Warfield  is  at  home,  sir.  Miss  Ravenel 
has  not  yet  arrived." 

"Not  arrived?" 

The  butler  pulled  a  wire  and  the  boom  of  a  great 
bell  startled  Austin ;  it  was  hung  in  the  branches  of 
a  huge  sycamore  that  stood  in  the  cobblestoned  court 
yard  beyond  the  archway  that  led  under  the  second 
story  of  the  long  house,  to  the  servants'  offices ;  its 

266 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

clamor  might  easily  have  been  heard  across  the  val 
ley  for  half  a  mile  or  more. 

As  the  butler  evidently  expected  it,  Austin  suf 
fered  himself  to  be  inducted  into  a  vast  drawing- 
room,  where  the  butler  brought  him  cake  and  wine ; 
it  was  dark  with  mahogany ;  its  unpainted  wooden 
floor  hardly  relieved  by  rugs,  its  walls  almost  bare 
of  furniture;  altogether  it  had  the  look  of  an  apart 
ment  that  had  been  stripped  in  times  of  war;  only, 
there  were  many  sombre  family  portraits  in  the 
panels,  portraits  that  would  not  have  relieved  the 
gloom  but  for  the  scarlet,  the  buff  and  blue,  and,  later 
still,  the  blue  and  gold,  of  the  uniforms  they  repre 
sented.  One,  the  latest  of  all,  was  a  very  young 
man  in  the  dress  of  an  American  naval  officer  of  the 
War  of  1812;  the  placard  bore  the  lettering  "  Com 
modore  Ravenel,  U.  S.  N.  Born  July  11,  1784. 
Died  in  August,  1816."  A  commodore  at  thirty- 
two  !  There  was  also  a  painting  of  a  small  ship, 
almost  a  pinnace,  evidently  done  from  memory  or 
imagination,  for  the  Pillars  of  Hercules  were  indi 
cated  on  either  side  and,  in  the  background,  a  stormy 
Atlantic.  It  bore  the  legend  "  U.  S.  sloop  of  war 
Hornet.  Sailed  from  Tripoli  with  dispatches  Au 
gust  2,  1816;  never  reported."  Then  there  were 
portraits  of  Rutledges,  Raouls,  one  of  a  Warfield, 
also  in  the  navy.  But  it  was  evidently  a  Ravenel 

267 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

house.  And  there  was  one — a  beautiful  Copley — 
fine  as  any  Sir  Joshua,  but  with  the  strange  New- 
World  delicacy  that  was  all  his  own — of  a  Miss  Rolf 
Ravenel,  "  granddaughter  of  Princess  Pocahontas." 
The  present  Miss  Ravenel  had  much  her  look, 
thought  Austin,  when,  hearing  the  rustle  of  a  silk 
dress,  he  rose  to  see,  as  he  felt  sure,  the  original  be 
fore  him.  No,  that  was  of  course  impossible — a 
granddaughter  again,  perhaps.  Yet  she  was  very 
old,  certainly  eighty,  but  with  eyes  as  brightly  black, 
dress  as  coquettishly  perfect,  neck  as  snowy,  where 
it  showed,  as  any  older  French  marquise  or  (though 
a  touch  more  soigne,  perhaps)  of  any  girl's  of  seven 
teen.  She  dropped  a  little  courtesy,  and  Pinckney 
ceremoniously  bowed. 

"  You  are  welcome  to  Ravenel,  Mr  Pinckney, 
welcome  as  any  Pinckney  would  be,  but  you  are 
doubly  so,  for  my  daughter  has  spoken  much  of  you." 

Pinckney's  face  burned.  He  turned  away  to 
look  at  the  picture. 

"  That  is  my  father."  Her  father !  "  He  was 
never  heard  of  again.  You  see,  I  was  married  at 
fifteen — and,  you  must  know,  I  am  nearing  ninety. 
I  call  Mary  my  daughter;  of  course  she  is  only  my 
granddaughter.  Her  mother  was  not  married  as 
young  as  I." 

Nearing  ninety !  Was  it  the  French  charm,  the 
268 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

old  Huguenot  blood,  that  made  this  slender  little 
bright-eyed  lady  lovable  yet?  Austin  turned  from 
her  to  the  picture  with  the  air  of  one  who  reveren 
tially  salutes.  "  You  are  fortunate  in  having  the 
picture,  Mrs  Warfield." 

"  Yes,  when  the  British  captured  Washington 
they  left  us  little  else.  Of  course,  at  that  time, 
the  portrait  of  Commodore  Ravenel  had  not  been 
painted.  But  the  Yankees  were  here,  in  sixty-one 
and  in  sixty-three." 

"  Your  father  is  wearing  blue,"  said  Pinckney. 

"  Well  said,  my  young  friend,  and  I  know  your 
family  sided  with  the  North.  But  I  know  that  your 
great-grandfather  refused  to  go  with  his  father  to 
England  and  join  the  Tories.  And  he  used  to  run 
away  at  night — to  mount  guard  with  the  Continental 
soldiers  at  Annapolis.  Jared  Sparks,  the  Yankee, 
tells  us  that." 

"  Massachusetts  and  Virginia  made  the  war," 
said  Austin. 

"  And  South  Carolina — you  and  I  may  say  so." 

"  There  is  little  left  of  my  family.  My  three 
sisters  are  much  older  than  I  and  their  children  are 
all  German.  My  wife  and  I  have  no  children."  Aus 
tin  spoke  with  the  faintest  possible  stress,  which,  it 
seemed,  the  old  lady  noticed ;  for,  as  if  to  put  him  at 
his  ease,  she  answered: 

269 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  knew  that  you  were  married,  but  I  did  not 
know  you  had  no  children.  Well,  well,  there  are  to 
be  no  Ravenels  any  more — and  Miles  Warfield  was  the 
last  of  his  race — better  so  than  to  have  a  line  run 
down  as  did  the  Breeses.  You  know,  Miles  Breese 
was  my  daughter's  cousin.  I  must  frankly  tell  you 
that  I  abhor  him." 

"  Miss  Ravenel  seems  devoted." 

"  He  is  her  father.  He  is  only  my  son-in-law. 
And  I  hated  him  from  the  time  I  made  my  daughter 
marry  him.  That  was  my  remorse.  My  daughter 
had  some  fantastic  remorse  of  her  own  for  having 
left  him,  or  for  having  divorced  him,  after  her  boy 
died.  The  Warfields,  you  know,  are  gentle,  easy 
going  people,  and  very  religious.  They  think  divorc 
ing  is  sinful.  We  Ravenels  think  it  only  unneces 
sary."  And  the  old  lady's  dark  eyes  flashed.  It  was 
easy  to  see  where  Miss  Ravenel  got  her  spirit  from. 

Austin  rose  to  go.  "  I  am  so  sorry  not  to  see 
Miss  Ravenel." 

"  What  ?  Nothing  of  the  sort.  Of  course,  you 
are  going  to  spend  the  night.  Mary  came  on  to 
day,  I  know — she  has  stopped  in  Baltimore  about 
some  of  her  classes — her  poor  people.  She  will  be 
out  by  the  evening  train." 

A  night  beneath  her  roof !  But  as  Austin  felt 
his  heart's  blood  rush  to  his  heart,  his  head  resolved. 

270 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  fear  it  is  quite  impossible.  I  have  nothing  with 
me  " — so  do  clothes  protect  us,  in  this  world ! 

"  Well,  come  out  to-morrow ;  you  must  give  us 
a  day  at  least." 

"  If  my  business  permits ;  I  may  have  to  go  back 
to  New  York."  The  excuse,  from  a  South  Carolina 
Pinckney  to  a  Ravenel,  did  not  sound  convincing. 

"  Fiddle-de-dee !  my  daughter  tells  me  you  have 
been  of  so  much  service — and  now  this  Allegheny 
Railroad  trouble — she  wrote  me  last  night  that  you 
were  our  attorney." 

(Last  night !  She  was  thinking  about  him,  then, 
last  night — just  when  he  was  flying  through  the  Jer 
sey  woods — it  was  only  yesterday,  he  still  wore  the 
faded  rose  he  had  pinned  in  while  lunching  with  her 
— she  must  have  written  immediately  after  he  had 
left  her  in  the  doorway.) 

"  I  shall  try  to,"  said  Austin.  "  I  really  will — 
I  will  telegraph." 

A  mile  from  the  home,  galloping,  he  passed  an 
ancient  vehicle,  creaking  up  the  hill.  Alone  in  the 
back  seat  sat  Miss  Ravenel.  He  turned  and  greeted 
her. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "  I  thought 
you  would  come.  But  why  did  you  come  so  soon? 
You  are  not  going?  " 

In  the  dusk,  he  could  hardly  see  her  face.  He 
271 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

strained  his  eyes  to  hers — only  her  voice  came  to 
him,  cool  and  gentle.  Really,  it  was  hardly  fair  to 
count  this. 

"  I  must  —  I  must  get  back  to  Baltimore." 
Bravely  he  made  the  fight.  "  I  have  told  Mrs  War- 
field  perhaps  I  can  come  out  to-morrow." 

"  I  hope  you  will — good  night." 

The  greatest  resolution  of  Austin  Pinckney's 
life  now  vanished. 

"  I  will,"  he  said. 

"  Come  in  the  morning — I  want  to  show  you 
Ravenel." 

Late  in  the  evening,  at  the  Chesapeake  Club,  the 
porter  handed  Austin  a  card.  It  was  "  Mr  Mar- 
koff "  in  all  its  proud  isolation  of  any  Christian 
name.  Mr  Markoff  had  not  yet  the  entree  of  a 
Maryland  club,  it  appeared,  so  Austin  consented  to 
return  to  the  hotel. 

"  Austin,  old  man,  we  play  cards  down.  I  don't 
mind  admitting  you've  made  a  score.  Now,  I  think 
I  can  make  a  proposition,  if  you'll  tell  me  what  you 
mean  to  do." 

The  American  winced  a  little,  but  saidt  "We 
have  made  no  secret  of  what  we  want.  We  hold  the 
meeting  void,  and  both  the  stock  issue  and  the  guar 
anty  illegal." 

272 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  The  stock  issue,  after  all,  has  been  voted  by 
the  president  and  directors,  and  the  contract  with 
Allegheny  Pacific  is  legal.  Tamms  was  undoubt 
edly  president  of  the  Pacific,  and  the  fact  that  he 
was  not  then  president  of  the  Central  only  makes  the 
deal  look  still  further  all  right — the  new  pre 
ferred  stock  has  passed  into  the  hands  of  innocent 
purchasers." 

"  Tamms  and  his  pledgees,"  said  Austin  dryly. 

"  Well,  among  others,  the  Chesapeake  Trust 
Company  of  Baltimore.  His  largest  loan  is  there. 
If  you  cancel  the  preferred  stock,  you'll  ruin  him." 

"  And  if  we  don't,  we'll  ruin  ten  thousand  old 
stockholders,  who  got  their  money  honestly,  and  who 
can't  make  a  new  coup,  as  he  can.  Did  he  not  ruin 
old  Mr  Townley?" 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Markoff.  "  That  old  story- 
well,  if  Gresham's  in  it — "  The  wily  Hebrew  made 
a  volte-face.  "  Tell  you  what,  Austin — suppose  I 
throw  up  the  sponge  on  the  preferred  stock?  "  Aus 
tin  observed  the  single  pronoun. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  said  he. 

"  You  to  keep  quiet  for  a  week.     Time." 

"  I'll  tell  you  to-morrow,  at  ten  o'clock." 

Before  going  to  bed  Austin  telegraphed  Gresham  : 
"  Chesapeake  Trust  Company  largest  lender  security 
preferred  stock ;  shall  secure  it ;  also  much  common ; 

273 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

telegraph  bank  to  give  certified  check  $205,000." 
That  is  what  the  cipher  meant;  what  it  said 
was :  "  Chesapeake  depravest  Martha  hog  also  Mary 
wire  Maryland  give  me  certified  check  palimpsest 
palanquin." 

At  ten  o'clock  Markoff  came  to  Austin's  parlor, 
where  he  found  Miss  Aylwin  with  a  typewriting  ma 
chine.  "  You  won't  object  to  a  witness  at  our  inter 
view,"  Austin  said.  "  I've  decided  to  agree  to  a 
week's  truce  if  you'll  sign  a  paper  agreeing  to  have 
these  votes  reconsidered  at  the  special  meeting,  by 
the  directors  and  stockholders  as  well.  I  also  want 
you,  as  Tamms's  attorney,  to  sign  a  paper  agreeing 
that  each  lot  of  collateral  shall  stand  as  security  for 
any  or  all  of  his  loans  held  by  my  client,  the  Miners' 
Bank." 

Markoff  looked  at  Austin,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Miss  Aylwin  will  prepare  the  paper,  and  you 
can  sign  it.  I  must  go  now — I  have  an  engage 
ment."  A  telegraph  boy  came  in  with  a  dispatch. 
Austin  opened  it ;  it  was  not  in  cipher,  and  he  threw 
it  over  to  Markoff.  It  read: 

"  Market  opened  panicky.  Central  weak ;  no 
quotations  Pacific.  Return  if  possible  to-day." 

"  Do  you  mind  my  sending  this  answer?  "  asked 
Markoff.  He  wrote  on  a  blank  sheet  of  paper: 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Hold  up  everything  for  a  week.  Possible 
agreement  with  Tamms  party." 

"  I  see  no  objection,"  said  Austin,  as  he  gave 
the  message  to  the  telegraph  boy.  Only,  he 
had  added  the  words  "  impossible  return  before 
to-morrow." 

Austin  went  around  to  the  Maryland  Bank  and 
got  his  certified  check  for  $205,000;  then  to  the 
Chesapeake  Trust  Company,  where  Miss  Aylwin 
awaited  him.  "  He  has  signed  it,"  she  said,  "  both 
papers."  Austin  took  the  one  relating  to  the  hold 
ing  of  collateral  and  put  the  other  in  his  pocket. 
Then,  Miss  Aylwin  with  him,  he  entered  the  treas 
urer's  private  office. 

"  Mr  McTavish,  I  have  come  to  take  up  that 
loan  of  Tamms,"  he  said.  "  I  think  you  said,  with 
interest,  it  amounted  to  over  two  hundred  and  four 
thousand  dollars." 

"  Two  hundred  and  four  thousand  six  hundred 
and  sixty-six,"  said  Mr  McTavish.  "  We  consider 
it  amply  secured,  even  should  the  new  preferred  stock 
be  held  void,  but  we  are  always  happy  to  oblige  the 
Miners'  Bank.  Here  is  the  list,  20,000  shares  new 
preferred ;  that's  the  trimming ;  2,050  shares  old 
common,  and  that's  the  beef." 

"  Have  you  got  the  securities  ?  "  Austin  spoke 
not  impatiently,  but  he  was  evidently  in  a  hurry. 

275 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  They  are  here."  McTavish  handed  over  one 
long  envelope.  "  I  must  endorse  Tamms's  note  '  with 
out  recourse.' ' 

"  Miss  Aylwin,  you  will  take  these  stocks  and  the 
note,  and  carry  them  to  the  Maryland  Bank  to  hold 
for  order  of  the  Miners'  Bank  of  New  York.  I 
suppose  you  can  give  Miss  Aylwin  an  escort?  " 

"  Surely,  our  most  trusted  messenger."  They 
left  the  room.  Austin  breathed  a  sigh.  The  extra 
collateral  on  this  loan  made  the  Miners'  Bank  secure. 
Then,  as  he  was  taking  his  leave,  the  teller's  door 
opened. 

"  Mr  Markoff ,  sir —  The  clerk  stopped  as  he 
saw  Pinckney. 

"  You  may  go  on,  Roberts." 

"  Mr  Markoff,  sir,  has  called  with  a  certified 
check  to  take  up  that  $200,000  loan  of  Phineas 
Tamms  &  Co." 

"  Tell  him  he  is  too  late,"  said  Mr  McTavish. 
"  Good-by,  Mr  Pinckney."  And  as  he  met  Pinck- 
ney's  eye,  the  canny  McTavish  treated  himself  to  one 
discreet  smile.  It  laid  Pinckney  under  an  obligation. 

Austin  caught  his  train.  He  had  had  no  lunch, 
and  when  he  arrived  at  Ravenel  it  was  nearly  three 
o'clock.  She  met  him  at  the  doorway.  "  My  grand 
mother  always  rests  in  the  afternoon,"  she  said,  "  but 

276 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

your  room  is  ready.  I  thought  we  should  like  best 
to  go  to  walk?  We  have  no  horses,  you  know.  But 
perhaps  first  you  would  like  some  lunch?  " 

"  I  have  had  my  lunch,"  lied  Austin. 

Miss  Ravenel  led  the  way  under  the  archway, 
through  the  courtyard  where  was  the  great  sycamore 
tree. 

"  The  great  bell  in  the  first  branch  is  the  old 
'  slave '  bell.  It  is  still  rung  to  call  in  our  servants 
when  we  need  them." 

"  I  have  heard  it,"  said  Austin. 

Now  they  passed  under  an  archway  of  clipped 
box  and  stood  within  a  rectangular  garden.  In  the 
four  corners  were  wonderful  Japanese  yews ;  the 
flowers  in  this  garden  were  kept  up,  and  beautifully. 

"  It  is  mine,"  said  Miss  Ravenel.  "  You  know 
grandma  cannot  afford  to  hire  labor.  In  the  old 
days  many  of  the  men  that  had  been  slaves  used  to 
come  and  work  in  the  gardens  for  love,  but  they  are 
nearly  all  gone  now.  You  see  her  father's  name  is 
still  carried  on  the  navy  records,  and  although  he 
was  only  an  ensign  when  he  was  lost,  grandma  gets 
a  commodore's  pension." 

Austin  asked  how  that  might  be. 

"  A  naval  officer  of  the  United  States  is  not  to  be 
presumed  to  have  lost  his  ship.  The  loss  of  the 
Hornet  has  never  been  reported.  So  great-grandpa's 

277 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

name  was  duly  given  its  promotion  by  seniority 
until  the  retiring  age." 

All  winds  were  stilled  within  this  garden,  and  as 
the  two  stood  together  by  an  old  sundial,  the  warm 
Maryland  sun  brought  out  the  diverse  perfume  of 
the  flowers  against  the  all-pervading,  warm,  strong 
scent  of  the  box  hedges.  When  they  ceased  speak 
ing  no  sound  was  heard  except  the  humming  of 
the  bees. 

Austin  had  no  desire  to  say  anything.  He  was 
content  to  watch  the  lovely  girl ;  she  was  simply 
dressed  in  a  gray  skirt  and  shoes  for  walking,  and 
the  long  slim  waist  of  dainty  muslin  seemed  to  him 
a  more  beautiful  covering  than  any  ball  dress  he  had 
ever  seen.  Perhaps  it  was  the  shade  of  the  broad 
Leghorn  hat  that  enabled  her  to  look  so  straight 
before  her  with  wide-opened  eyes.  Austin  felt  his 
own  as  if  dazzled,  and  he  looked  down  at  the  dial, 
under  pretext  of  reading  the  motto.  There  was  a 
motto;  and  it  was  charming: 

" — Venit  qua?  non  sperabitur  hora." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it — the  hour  never  looked  for 
comes,"  said  he. 

"  Or,  the  weather  will  be  finer  than  you  expect," 
laughed  Miss  Ravenel.  "  The  charm  of  Latin  mot- 

278 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

toes  is,  they  may  mean  so  many  things."  And  she 
bent  her  lissome  figure,  so  quickly  that  the  man  had 
not  time  to  stoop,  to  clip  a  blossom  of  gardenia. 
"  Does  it  not  remind  you  of  a  ballroom  ?  I  hate  it, 
in  a  ballroom ;  I  grow  it  here  on  purpose.  It  makes 
me  so  glad  I  am  not  there !  "  and  she  stretched  the 
flower  out  to  him  to  smell.  He  drew  a  long  breath 
or  two,  but  avoided  asking  for  it,  and  she  pinned  it 
to  her  dress.  They  were  going  now  by  one  of  the 
old  mills ;  its  overshot  wheel  lay  still  under  its  layer 
of  green  moss,  and  the  shining  drops  tinkled  music 
ally  as  they  fell  upon  the  rotting  wood.  One  side 
of  the  great  stone  wall  was  torn  out  and  fallen,  as 
if  by  a  shell.  He  asked  if  it  was  done  in  the  war. 

"  No,  I  did  it  myself  with  gunpowder,"  said  the 
girl  simply.  "  We  needed  the  stones  for  the  avenue. 
Laurel  Run  will  wash  it  away  in  the  floods.  This  is 
Laurel  Run ;  there  is  the  old  stillhouse ;  that  marble- 
rimmed  pool  beside  the  brook  that  comes  down  from 
the  Hanging  Wood  was  meant  for  a  bath,  before  the 
days  of  indoor  plumbing." 

"  I  should  Jove  to  bathe  there  still,"  said  he. 

"  You  may  if  you  like,  and  get  up  early  enough 
before  breakfast.  I  tried  it  once  but  there  were  too 
many  water  spiders,"  laughed  she.  "  This  is  called 
the  Wood  Walk ;  it  runs  for  nearly  half  a  mile  along 
the  run  and  the  trees  have  never  been  cut  down. 

279 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

They  say  that  Lafayette  was  very  fond  of  it  and 
he  and  Washington  and  Count  Marbois  used  to  come 
here  to  tea.  That's  why  that  is  called  the  Lafayette 
Circle." 

She  pointed  to  the  retaining  wall,  which  ran  all 
along  the  steep  hill  on  the  upper  side  of  the  path, 
and  here  was  hollowed  out  into  a  semicircle  in  which 
were  three  stone  seats. 

"  There  is  a  '  salon  de  Mirabeau  '  in  Auvergne," 
said  Austin,  "  but  I  am  sure  it  served  no  such  harm 
less  purpose." 

"  The  British  didn't  think  this  was  harmless," 
said  she.  "  It's  only  a  day's  march  from  here  to  the 
Brandywine.  See,  here  the  laurel  begins  already." 
They  were  getting  now  into  a  veritable  mountain 
gorge ;  the  stream  was  roaring  at  their  feet  and  the 
interspaces  of  the  dark  forest  were  rosy  with  the 
laurel  through  which  the  girl  glided,  beautiful  as 
that  girl  of  the  Parthenon  stele,  stooping  to  tie  her 
sandal.  But  Austin  was  sternly  refusing  himself 
the  thought  of  the  girl's  beauty. 

"  You  will  not  mind  a  good  long  walk  ?  "  she  said. 
"  I  do  so  love  it — the  first  time  I  come  here  after  the 
long  New  York  winter." 

Austin  said  he  would  not  mind  a  good  long  walk. 

"  That  reminds  me,"  she  said ;  "  I  have  read  one 
of  those  books,  the  only  one  I  could  get  at  the  book- 

280 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

store  near  the  station,  and  it  isn't  about  a  factory 
girl  at  all;  it's  about  a  duchess." 

"  Why  should  factory  girls  wish  to  read  about 
factory  girls?  " 

"  Well,  they  would,  if  the  stories  were  properly 
written.  What  we  want  for  them  is  a  Balzac — a 
Balzac  with  a  heart." 

"Won't  Howells  do?" 

"  Howells  is  too  ladylike,"  she  laughed.  "  Women 
are  women,  as  men  are  men,  and  it  would  do  them 
good  to  be  told  so.  But  this  duchess  book  has  just 
the  same  trouble  I  find  in  the  girls  themselves — it 
hasn't  any  ideals  except  diamonds  and  display,  and 
they  won't  believe  that  we  have,  either." 

"  Send  them  to  Newport,"  said  Austin  sadly. 
Something  in  his  tone  struck  the  young  girl,  and 
for  the  first  time  she  looked  at  him,  as  it  were, 
personally. 

"  No,"  she  said  softly,  "  we  must  go  to  them." 
Then  after  a  minute  ( she  was  leading,  leaping  lightly 
from  one  mossy  step  to  another,  so  that  her  white 
waist  made  a  glimmering  in  the  steep  valley  wood) 
she  turned  lightly  in  her  tread  and  "  with  the  upper 
foot  so  pressed  that  the  lower  was  the  firmer  "  looked 
at  him.  "  Would  you  like  to  go  with  me  to  our  little 
factory?  I  called  it  ours,  but  it  is  only  a  little 
water-power  with  a  nook  of  land  that  General  Rav- 
19  281 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

enel  gave  to  some  Hessians  who  were  too  poor  to  go 
home  after  the  Revolution.  But  to  get  there  we 
must  go  down  to  the  road  and  climb  back  again." 
She  seemed  to  need  no  answer,  but  turned  down 
ward;  here  there  was  no  path,  but  she  sprang  easily 
from  one  ledge  to  another,  scorning  his  hand;  Aus 
tin  followed,  looking  at  her ;  now  and  then  she  would 
turn  and  look  up  at  him,  smiling;  at  such  moments 
Austin's  heart  passed  through  all  the  grades  of 
happiness. 

"  It  is  the  multitudes  that  are  misled.  I  want 
you  to  see  the  mill  girls  here.  It  is  the  vast  aggre 
gation  of  such  in  cities  that  seems  to  crush  all  to  a 
coarse  uniformity — necessary,  I  suppose." 

"  Markets,  cheaper  railway  rates,  power,  are  the 
causes ;  electricity  promises  much  but  fails  to  fulfill 
as  yet.  I  had  hoped  to  see  the  time  when  a  little 
thread  of  wire  would  carry  into  every  working 
woman's  home  the  brute  force  necessary  for  her 
skilled  labor,  and  so  all  could  live  at  home,  and  in 
the  country." 

"  They  would  not  do  it,"  said  she.  "  Even  here, 
where  the  conditions  are  so  perfect — for  we  are  near 
enough  to  cart  the  few  materials,  and  the  product 
(they  make  watches)  is  so  valuable  that  the  rail  rates 
do  not  count — I  have  trouble  sometimes  in  persuad 
ing  the  young  girls  to  stay."  By  this  time  they 

282 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  stepped  down  out  of  the  forest  onto  the  level 
valley  road ;  Austin  noted  gladly  that  the  sun  was 
still  some  hours  high ;  before  them  lay  a  picturesque 
long  stone  mill,  beside  it  a  flume  and  a  pretty  pool 
into  which  a  waterfall  some  sixty  feet  in  height  fell 
churning.  The  little  dell  was  full  of  ferns  and  flow 
ers,  and  as  they  entered  the  main  great  room  of  the 
factory  the  girls  all  looked  up  with  joyous  saluta 
tion.  "  It  is  my  first  visit  this  year,"  said  Miss 
Ravenel,  "  but  they  cannot  leave  their  work  to  speak 
to  us  while  the  machinery  is  running." 

Some  forty  young  women  with  a  few  elder  ones 
(they  were  the  widows,  she  said)  were  in  the  room ; 
the  air  was  pure,  the  windows  all  open,  on  most  of 
the  window  sills  a  bunch  of  flowers ;  the  flaxen  braids 
of  the  younger  still  showed  their  Saxon  origin ;  they 
were  all  neat  and  wholesome  looking,  if  not  handsome, 
and  wore  cool-looking  shirtwaists  as  dainty  as  Mary 
Ravenel' s  own. 

"  The  few  men  needed  do  the  heavy  work,  tend 
the  machinery,  pack  and  unpack;  the  girls  prefer 
to  have  them  work  in  another  room — it  leaves  them 
freer.  We  will  ask  the  superintendent  to  stop  the 
wheel  a  moment.  The  old  overshot  wheel  I  could 
stop  myself;  but  we  had  to  give  it  up  for  a  modern 
turbine.  I  loved  it  so,  though,  that  I  got  it  discon 
nected  and  leave  it  be  for  the  looks  of  it."  As 

283 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  wheels  revolved  more  slowly  and  the  shafting 
slacked,  the  operatives  all  clustered  around  Mary 
Ravenel.  Austin  stood  apart  and  looked  on — then 
he  was  introduced  to  a  few,  the  elite  who  did  only 
handwork ;  the  engravers,  who  designed  monograms 
and  inscriptions. 

"  I  rejoice,"  said  Austin  as  they  walked  away, 
"  that  they  can  still  compete  with  the  trust." 

"  They  have  an  old  trade-mark  and  reputation — 
the  Laurel  Run  watches.  Many  people  still  will  be 
at  pains  to  get  them.  After  all,  a  hand-made  watch 
is  best.  But  they  do  now  have  to  buy  their  cases. 
Mr  Kolmer  tells  me  he  is  afraid  they  will  try  to  force 
them  to  join  the  trust,  and  the  first  thing  the  trust 
would  do  is  to  abandon  these  works  entirely — the 
trust  doesn't  want  handwork." 

"  The  highest  economy  of  management  being, 
so  far  as  possible,  to  eliminate  the  human  element," 
said  Pinckney  grimly. 

"  Perhaps  some  higher  taste  will  want  it  back. 
Now,  Mr  Pinckney,  that  speech  came  from  Wall 
Street — at  Laurel  Run  we  are  human  and  happy." 
The  girl  was  climbing  nimbly  through  the  ferns ; 
Austin  followed,  but  stumbling  more,  for  he  would 
keep  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers,  so  that  now  and  then,  as 
she  looked  downward  over  her  shoulder  to  him,  he 
could  see  them  smile. 

284 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Surely,"  she  went  on,  "  all  that  humanity  needs 
is  knowledge  of  the  higher  good,  of  what  is  really 
good,  really  valuable — and  God  has  so  arranged  it 
that  the  making  of  the  really  good  is  never  labor  that 
degrades.  The  tilling  of  fields,  the  sailing  of  ships, 
the  fashioning  of  beautiful  things  by  hand  and  eye 
alone,  this  is  good;  the  mining  of  metals,  the  forg 
ing  of  cannon,  the  sitting  at  a  crowded  bench  to  aid 
a  machine  turn  out  cheap  imitation  jewelry,  shoddy, 
vulgar-patterned  carpets,  noxious  chemicals  to  be 
utilized  again  in  unwholesome  processes,  this  is  bad." 

"  Ruskin  was  a  seer,  but  he  was  not  omniscient. 
How  about  sweatshops,  paper  mills,  shoe  factories? 
Sweatshops  are  home  labor,  and  there  is  no  machin 
ery.  Paper  you  must  have  in  any  earthly  millen 
nium.  Would  you  go  back  to  the  cobbler  and  his 
bench?" 

Miss  Ravenel  laughed.  "  We  might  at  least  get 
another  Hans  Sachs.  And  I  am  not  sure  there  is 
not  something  inherently  meretricious  about  clothes. 
As  to  wood  pulp,  I  don't  care  for  Sunday  newspapers 
and  I  do  prefer  it  in  its  original  condition  of  prime 
val  forest !  "  But  Austin  wanted  to  be  graver. 

"  '  Knowledge  of  thy  truth,'  "  he  quoted.  "  It 
is  all  we  need.  Perhaps,  after  all,  we  are  in  a  transi 
tion  stage.  Even  Carnegie  libraries  may  bring  us 
some  of  it." 

285 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  And  that  service  which  alone  is  perfect  free 
dom.  Not  the  freedom  your  poor  city  mill  girls 
wanted." 

"  Is  there  such  a  thing  as  free  will  ?  " 
"  If  there  is  no  free  will,  there  is  no  freedom." 
"  Malebranche  said  that  all  causal  volition  was 
but  the  direct  interposition  of  God.     And  Leibnitz 
said  that  a   stone,  falling  through  the  air,  if  con 
scious,  would  think  it  did  it  of  its  own  free  will." 

"  I  never  read  any  philosophy,"  said  the  girl, 
"  but  I  should  say  that  the  stone  would  be  perfectly 
right." 

The  man  looked  at  the  young  woman  in  wonder. 
"You  have  anticipated  Spinoza's  rejoinder." 

"  Gravitation  is  but  inclination,  and  conscious 
inclination  is  desire,  will,  attraction,  love ;  the  will 
to  serve  is  the  love  of  God." 

"  But  what  do  you  tell  your  class  girls  ?  " 
"  To  those  that  have  a  church,  I  say  that.  To 
others,  I  respect  their  agnosticism,  but  I — surely  you 
can  say  "  (Miss  Ravenel  went  on,  modestly  correct 
ing  herself),  "you  can  say  with — who  was  it? — 
Amiel  ? — '  I  do  not  know  what  others  are — I  am  em 
erald.  My  duty  is  to  be  emerald.'  Or  you  can  say, 
each  rod  of  iron  has  a  love  for  north  ;  therefore  we 
say,  there  is  some  great  source  and  end  of  the  love 
we  call  a  magnet's ;  we  do  not  think  of  denying  the 

286 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

magnetic  north.  So  each  one  of  us,  some  more,  some 
less,  far  down  below  the  day  desires,  have  still  a  love 
of  good,  an  inclination  for  goodness ;  somewhere, 
therefore,  is  a  well  spring  and  a  source  and  an  end  of 
goodness.  Thither  we  will;  and  the  will  is  the  love 
of  God ;  and  its  conscious  service  is  perfect  freedom." 
Had  they  gone  down  now  (Austin  later  thought) 
would  consequences  have  been  altered?  Why  was  it 
willed  otherwise?  They  did  not  so  will;  by  some  vir 
ginal  instinct  in  each  they  had  kept,  as  it  were,  in  the 
realms  of  pure  reason,  an  instinct  perhaps  beginning 
to  be  conscious  on  the  man's  part,  as  he  looked  at 
her  wonderful  face,  rosy  with  enthusiasm  of  her 
speech,  her  clear  eyes  blazing. — But  he  did  not  meet 
them,  this  time,  and  was  saved.  They  came  now  out 
on  a  crag  of  limestone  where  all  the  world  around 
was  lower  land;  they  sat  together,  she  looking  far 
out  to  the  purple  horizon,  he,  now,  looking  at  her. 
How  long  they  talked  he  never  knew ;  it  was  when  the 
waning  light  grew  like  the  light  of  autumn ;  they 
had  spoken  of  Dante,  how  he  had  anticipated  even 
what  they  had  been  saying,  that  he  was  the  greatest 
of  them  all.  Austin  told  how  he  had  been  in  fac 
tories — in  Latin  countries — where  the  mill  girls  hired 
readers  to  read  aloud — the  classics,  Dante,  Cervantes. 
When  would  that  be  at  Nauchester?  And  she  had 
said  she  thought  the  girls  at  Laurel  Run  would  like 

287 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

— if  not  Dante — Heine,  Uhland,  Longfellow.  He 
found  she  knew  her  Dante  well ;  the  "  Vita  Nuova," 
the  precursor  of  all  our  higher,  Christian  love  tales ; 
something  even  of  his  life.  So  they  were  led  to  talk 
ing  of  Beatrice,  of  her  marriage,  of  Dante's  mar 
riage,  of  his  later  loves.  But  Austin  now  was 
watching  her  face;  as  the  purple  shadows  came  up 
ward  from  the  valley  his  look  became  more  absorbed ; 
the  white  figure  grew  but  a  shimmer  in  the  shadows 
of  the  laurels ;  he  looked  down,  too,  at  her  white, 
ringless  hands. 

"  It  is  really  late,  now.  I  must  go.  I  am  so 
sorry.  I  have  never  met  anyone  with  whom  I 
thought  so  much  alike."  It  was  she  who  spoke. 
The  ungrammatical  little  sentence  was  slipping  out 
so  carelessly,  when  his  eyes  leaped  up  to  hers — and 
there  was  one  long  look  between  them.  No  word  was 
said.  The  gardenia  at  her  breast  fluttered  a  little. 
The  clear  amethyst  of  her  eyes  changed,  as  he  looked, 
to  that  dim,  cloudy  blue.  Austin  turned  away  as  he 
said: 

"  Dante  never  loved  anyone  else.  But  she  re 
fused  him  her  salutation." 

Miss  Ravenel  made  no  answer;  she  was  leading 
the  way  rapidly  through  the  now  dark  wood.  But 
the  light  was  now  flooding  through  the  man's  whole 
soul.  After  a  minute  again  he  spoke. 

288 


LAUREL   MOUXTAIX 


"They  came  now  out  on  a  crag  where  all  the  world  around 
was  lower  land." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Whatever  they  may  tell  you,  Miss  Ravenel, 
remember — the  lady  from  Genoa  lied."  There  was 
a  choking  end  to  this  sentence.  Had  she  heard  it? 
He  stumbled  over  a  bush.  He  would  say  nothing 
more ;  she  did  not.  At  last,  when  she  spoke,  it  was 
to  ask  him,  in  the  open  road,  how  soon  he  was  to 
leave  Baltimore. 

"  In  a  day  or  two — not  to-morrow.  My  wife 
does  not  come  home  till  Wednesday.  We  are  to  be 
at  Beverly  this  summer."  This  speech  was  willed, 
and  Austin  expected  the  conventional  rejoinder,  but 
the  girl  made  none.  He  became  conscious  of  a  chill 
ing  air  now,  that  swept  upward  through  the  gorge. 
He  became  very  faint.  He  could  hardly  see  his 
guide  before  him.  He  resolved  that  in  the  box  gar 
den  he  would  stop.  "  May  I  have  a  gardenia?  " 

She  watched  him  stoop  to  cut  one  and  threw  hers 
away;  it  was  already  (she  pointed  out  in  the  light  of 
the  doorway)  brown  at  the  edges ;  then,  as  she  looked, 
for  the  first  time,  at  his  face,  she  cried  out,  "  Why, 
you  look  faint !  "  and  indeed  our  hero  had  collapsed 
upon  a  chair. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  didn't  eat — I  didn't  eat  enough 
lunch,"  he  said,  laughing.  But  the  girl's  matronly 
instinct  now  prevailed ;  he  was  a  boy,  in  need  of  nurs 
ing  ;  she  darted  about  for  cakes  and  sherry. 

"  You  must  drink  it  at  once."  She  sat  beside 
289 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

him  on  the  old  horsehair  dining-room  seat  and  looked 
merrily  over  the  glass  of  brown  sherry.  Austin 
broke  the  bread  and  drank  the  wine.  But  with  his 
strength  came  back  the  veil  between  them.  Mrs 
Warfield  made  the  brightness  of  the  dinner  table. 
She  asked  if  they  had  talked  out  their  business. 
"  Not  yet,"  said  Austin.  "  I  don't  think  we  talked 
any  business  at  all,"  said  the  girl. 

But  (some  fairy,  I  suppose,  or  kindly  heathen 
goddess,  holding  the  scales  to  his  eyes)  Austin  was 
happy  as  he  had  never  dreamed  that  happiness  could 
be.  He  did  not  ask  why ;  he  did  not  even  reflect  that 
questions  might  come  in  the  morning;  he  was  sitting 
at  her  table,  breaking  her  bread,  beside  her  so  that 
he  with  his  natural  look  had  her  face  in  his  vision, 
her  presence  at  his  side.  And  every  word  she  spoke 
was  moulded  in  his  memory  as  a  footprint  in  a  clay 
that  turns  to  rock. 

After  dinner,  pretexting  his  cigar,  he  walked  into 
the  garden  and  searched  for  the  gardenia  she  had 
cast  away ;  he  put  it  in  his  coat  instead  of  the  one  he 
wore ;  she  would  not  notice  it. 

"  You  will  not  mind,"  he  said  to  her,  "  if  I  walk 
out  in  the  garden  a  little  more?  "  By  no  means — 
she  was  very  tired,  she  was  going  to  bed;  breakfast 
was  at  eight — he  might  come  in  when  he  liked,  for  the 
garden  door  was  never  locked.  "  I  hope  we  did  not 

290 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

walk  too  far,"  said  Austin.  Miss  Ravenel  appar 
ently  did  not  hear ;  she  was  kissing  her  grandmother 
good  night. 

"  Your  candle  will  be  upon  the  stairs,"  said  the 
old  lady. 

Pinckney  went  out.  The  warm  scent  of  the  box 
still  was  there  that  he  had  known  that  day ;  through 
the  trees  he  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  old  mill  wheel,  the 
murmur  of  the  stream  where  he  had  walked  with  her. 
That  night  must  never  end ;  so  long  as  he  prolonged 
it,  it  was  still  the  day  when  he  had  been  with  her. 
The  very  clothes  he  wore  were  those  that  he  had  worn 
when  with  her.  So  he  smoked,  and  did  not  think — he 
did  not  have  to  think — and  walked  about  her  gardens. 
Only  at  the  dawn  did  he  go  to  his  room.  But  it  was 
only  to  take  his  bath,  don  his  morning  clothes,  and 
then,  fresh-eyed  as  the  morn  itself,  hie  him  up  the 
path  where  he  had  been  with  her.  Far  up  he  climbed, 
fixing  the  trail  in  his  memory,  up  to  the  very  rock 
where  he  had  sat  with  her — the  grass  still  pressed 
where  she  had  stood,  the  birch  still  bent  against 
which  he  had  leaned.  The  morning  was  over  the 
world,  and  he  saw  that  it  was  good;  he  loved  her, 
and  he  saw  that  it  was  good. 

But  coming  down,  the  butler  bade  him  breakfast 
alone,  and  after  it  appeared  Mrs  Warfield,  unwont- 

291 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

edly  early,  as  she  said,  for  her.  But  she  could 
not  let  him  breakfast  alone,  and  her  daughter  had 
been  suddenly  called  to  Baltimore,  while  he  was  out 
on  his  morning  walk.  And  Austin's  heart,  which 
had  been  rich  with  the  treasure  of  the  coming  hours, 
closed  suddenly  its  doors — oh,  was  this  all,  was  this 
all?  Was  it  all  over?  Back  in  the  forest  he  asked 
himself  this ;  then  his  pulse  seemed  to  give  one  thrill 
and  was  silent,  like  a  man,  thrown  from  his  horse, 
who  lies  upon  the  field  and  does  not  rise. 

It  was  all  forever  over. 

And  love  was.  Love  was,  and  it  was  such  as  this 
— love  elemental,  always,  eternal,  immutable.  No 
one  had  told  him  it  could  be  like  this.  Not  even 
Dante.  He  had  looked  at  those  around  him,  and 
discoursed  of  it,  fluently,  boylike.  And  it  was  Mary 
Ravenel.  O  God,  how  he  loved  her !  Nay— he  was 
no  other  thing  than  her.  He  was  her.  And  at  the 
roots  of  the  birch  tree,  he  murmured  her  name,  over 
and  over  again,  Mary — Mary — Mary  Ravenel.  Why 
had  she  left?  He  knew.  He  knew.  Was  not  his 
soul  now  hers.  And,  O  Mary,  mother  of  all  mercies, 
why?  It  might  have  been. 

And  the  great  strong  fellow  lay,  his  face  in  the 
fern  leaves,  and  cried  like  any  child.  So,  convul 
sively,  he  sobbed,  and  his  tears  rained  through  the 
mosses. — Have  you  lost  your  respect  for  him,  my 

292 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lady  reader?  Why,  Homer's  heroes  cried.  True, 
in  all  his  life  had  never  Killian  Van  Kull,  nor,  I  sup 
pose,  Guy  Livingstone,  nor  any  hero  of  historical 
romance.  But  I  must  tell  the  truth  of  Austin  Pinck- 
ney  as  he  always  told  it  to  himself — nor,  moreover, 
did  I  give  him  to  you  as  a  hero — just  a  man.  But 
so,  if  you  will,  henceforth  I  give  him  up  to  you,  a 
broken  hero.  .  .  . 

But  nevermore  he  lied  to  himself.  There  was  no 
weak  self-deception  about  his  love  for  Mary  Ravenel. 
True,  he  loved  her,  as  the  moth  the  star,  the  pine  the 
palm,  the  soul  the  spirit ;  but  he  also  loved  her  as  a 
man  a  woman.  He  could  not,  if  he  would,  lie  himself 
out  of  that. 

When  his  tears  stopped,  he  spent  the  morning 
hours  trying  to  remember  her  face.  In  the  after 
noon,  he  took  his  leave;  before  her  return,  as  (he 
could  feel)  she  had  willed. 

But  so  it  had  been  willed  that  these  two  should 
meet — willed  in  that  realm  where,  and  where  alone, 

"  That  can  be  which  is  willed." 


293 


BOOK    THREE 

(She. )     Durch  Mitleid  wissend.    .    .  . 
(He.)  .  .    .   Selig  im  Glauben. 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XXXV 

MARY  RAVENEL,  like  the  princess  of  an 
enchanted  palace,  had  been  brought  up  in 
a  dream.  The  dream  was  her  mother's ;  and  Ravenel 
itself  was  a  better  setting  for  it  than  any  Dore  has 
yet  drawn.  For  Mrs  Breese's  one  idea  had  been  to 
preserve  her  daughter  from  any  real  entanglement 
until  the  ideal  should  arrive;  her  own  history  had 
bred  in  her  a  horror,  not  only  of  the  arranged  mar 
riage,  but  even  the  boy-and-girl  unions,  marriages 
of  mere  propinquity,  accouplements  of  dawning  sex, 
that  are  the  delight  of  the  Greek  lyrist,  but  were  in 
her  eyes  fraught  with  the  seeds  of  tragedy.  Miles 
Breese  himself  had  been  a  handsome  fellow,  not  with 
out  the  high  light  of  romance,  when,  a  girl,  she  saw 
him  portrayed  in  the  centre  of  her  field  of  vision,  in 
love  with  her ;  no  young  girl  but  is  moved  at  the 
mention  of  such  a  state,  more  perhaps  when  told  by 
others,  whispered  by  his  sisters,  hinted  at  compas 
sionately  by  mothers  or  girl  friends,  than  when  the 
pining  swain  opens  his  own  lips.  I  doubt  if  Miles 
Breese  even  at  five-and-twenty  had  made  a  very  per 
suasive  suitor;  but  he  was  handsome,  rich,  content 
enough  to  take  over  this  beautiful  girl  as  he  would 
add  a  beautiful  thoroughbred  to  his  stable.  Many 
20  297 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  day  was  he  busied  wholly  with  his  racing  stable 
while  others  took  the  pains  to  speak  for  him  to  Mary 
Warfield ;  he  was  depicted  a  very  Orlando  wandering 
in  the  forest,  when  the  hard  facts  found  him  tippling 
at  road  houses  with  the  men — or  women — that  fast 
horses  breed.  For  it  is  a  truth  indeed  that,  if  men 
can  train  horses,  horses,  more  subtly,  train  the  men 
who  live  with  them.  Mary's  mother,  ambitious  of 
the  match,  discreetly  stood  aside;  only,  at  the  hesi 
tating  moment,  letting  Mary  know  (not  in  so  many 
words)  what  her  wishes  were.  For  theirs  was  a 
great  tradition,  a  great  name,  but  they  were  poor. 
And  why,  thought  Mrs  Warfield,  should  not  even  a 
Ravenel  marry  Miles  Breese?  He  was  the  best  man  in 
Baltimore.  Mary  liked  his  roses,  she  liked  his  own 
looks,  then ;  her  girl's  heart  would  beat  a  little  faster 
when  she  heard  the  thunder  of  his  horses'  hoofs 
upon  the  Ravenel  avenue,  and  this  (they  told  her) 
was  love,  and  so  she  accepted  it — and  him.  Then,  as 
has  been  elsewhere  told,  came  that  summer  at  Newport 
and  her  meeting  with  Charles  Austin  Pinckney.  A  look 
too  long — a  book  or  two  given,  a  word  exchanged — 
and  their  lives  were  ended.  She  had  never  repined. 

But  old  Mrs  Warfield  grew  cynical  and  French, 
in  her  later  years,  when  her  daughter's  life  seemed 
to  her  to  be  wrecked.  Mary,  a  simpler  and  perhaps 
a  stronger  nature,  turned  to  heaven,  and  kept  her 

298 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dreams.  Under  these  auspices  our  heroine  (Dorothy, 
for  the  moment,  is  at  Tuxedo)  was  born.  Then  came 
the  divorce — necessary,  said  the  family,  for  her  own 
self-respect ;  necessary,  said  her  mother  and  Mr 
Gresham,  whom  they  much  trusted,  for  her  own  sub 
sistence  and  the  child's  future.  It  was  just  after 
their  only  son's  death,  in  1877,  that  she  consented. 
Since  the  war,  Ravenel  in  Maryland  was  but  an  ex 
pense.  Ravenel  in  South  Carolina  was  gone.  Mrs 
Breese  brought  the  child  home  alone  from  Baden- 
Baden.  Old  Mrs  Warfield  could  not  afford  govern 
esses;  there  were,  of  course,  no  schools.  And  so  the 
child  Mary  had  come  to  be  educated  in  the  old  library. 
There  were  no  American  novels  later  than  Brockden 
Brown ;  there  was  Bulwer,  but  not  Dickens ;  little  of 
any  other  fiction  save  Scott ;  no  Fielding,  Smollett, 
or  Aphra  Behn ;  only  Richardson  and  some  German 
romances ;  for  old  Commodore  Warfield  had  that 
shrinking  from  gross  speech  peculiar  to  Southern 
gentlemen  before  the  war.  A  story  which  many  a 
man  to-day  will  tell  to  women  at  a  dinner  party 
would  have  made  him  blush  like  a  girl  or,  perhaps, 
to  hide  his  embarrassment,  cause  a  duel  with  the 
raconteur.  For  with  their  pistols  they  were  never 
embarrassed,  these  old  gentlemen ;  they  were  very 
simple-hearted,  but  not  to  be  played  with;  where, 
outside  of  a  certain  district  in  Castile,  had  the  world 

299 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

yet  seen  their  like?     We  shall  miss  them,  when  we 
have  leisure. 

Then  came  the  time  when  Miles,  too,  was  ruined ; 
his  social  adventuress  left  him  for  a  chocolate  manu 
facturer  ;  she  had  taken  most  of  his  fortune  and,  for 
the  time,  his  good  spirits ;  he  felt  very  ill  and  lonely 
and  wrote  to  his  abandoned  wife  a  letter.  She  would 
not  forgive  him.  But  men  like  Breese  are  not  to  be 
killed  by  their  emotions ;  convalescent,  he  wrote  her 
another  letter  announcing  his  immediate  departure 
for  the  devil.  Once  well  started,  he  proceeded  on 
that  road  more  rapidly  than  should  have  been  ex 
pected  in  a  gentleman  of  his  years.  He  sought,  and 
desired,  disgrace.  It  is  the  very  flagrancy  of  the 
sin  that  stimulates  a  flagging  Tarquin ;  the  shame, 
the  lust  of  hell,  that  goads  a  Cellini  or  a  Sade. 
And  this  may  go  with  kindliness ;  we  know  that 
Bluebeard  —  the  historical  Gilles  de  Retz  —  was 
devoted  to  Joan  of  Arc.  "  His  private  life  " — 
strange  no  Balzac,  no  Tolstoi,  yet  has  chosen  this 
title — Miles  Breese's  private  life  may  here  be  no 
more  than  indicated.  Sometimes  he  got  money — 
then  he  would  seek  to  flaunt  himself  into  his  wife's 
notice:  difficult  enough,  in  her  seclusion  at  Ravenel, 
but  he  found  friends  to  bear  the  news — at  other 
times  he  lived  a  Villon  lyric — he  had  not  the  spiritu 
ality,  even,  of  a  Verlaine.  It  was  at  this  period  that 

300 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Mary  Warfield  sinned.  For  (she  was  a  South  Caro 
linian,  and  devote  to  boot :  to  her,  her  "  divorce  " 
was  no  divorce,  but  a  legal  arrangement  to  prevent 
persecution — it  is  only  a  few  years  since  a  lady,  law 
fully  divorced  in  New  York  for  no  fault  of  her  own, 
was  refused  the  entree  of  the  St.  Cecilia  ball  at 
Charleston)  she  wrote  a  letter  to  Charles  Pinckney 
at  Carlsruhe.  He  replied;  it  led  to  an  interchange 
of  a  few  books,  nothing  more ;  then  she  begged  for 
silence,  and  their  silence  lasted  to  the  grave.  Neither 
of  them  even  knew  which  died  first. 

It  was  in  the  remorse  of  this  sin,  kept  secret  even 
from  her  own  mother  (who,  Huguenot  and  French  that 
she  was,  had  probably  made  little  of  it)  that  Mary 
Warfield  conveyed  vaguely  to  her  daughter  the  im 
pression  of  Miles  as  of  one  suffering,  erring,  sinned 
against.  Dying,  she  had  half -charged  her  daughter 
not  to  desert  her  father.  He  has  been  very  wicked, 
she  would  say,  but  we  were  both  to  blame.  Secretly, 
perhaps,  she  felt  she  had  done  wrong  to  marry  him. 
Abstract  wickedness  is  not,  to  a  young  girl,  a  definite 
phrase.  And  the  old  grandmother,  who  might  have 
scoffed  the  notion  out  of  her  head,  was  on  this  one 
point  humble ;  too  heartbroken  at  the  misery  caused 
by  her  own  worldly  plans  to  venture  ever  again  to 
direct  a  young  girl's  heart. 

Insensibly,  however,  it  had  reacted.  Her  father, 
301 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to  the  young  girl,  stood  for  the  modern  man ;  and  if 
she  did  not  visualize  all  the  flaws  in  his  composition, 
she  at  least  knew  that  it  was  but  a  poor,  weak  clay. 
Thus  it  came  about  that  the  men  she  read  of  in  Mai- 
lory,  in  Spenser — heroes  of  a  poet's  dream — she 
recognized  as  of  the  stuff  that  dreams  are  made  of ; 
the  men  of  real  life  she  recognized  in  old  plays,  or, 
at  their  best,  in  the  people  of  St.  Ronan's  Well,  in 
Pelham  or  Pendennis. 

She  had  met  few  young  men  in  New  York,  none 
as  yet  in  Baltimore,  to  disabuse  her  of  this  impres 
sion  ;  for  the  former  city  was  already  turning  to 
that  continental  civilization  of  which  it  boasts.  John 
Haviland  represented  a  previous  generation ;  more 
over,  her  father's  affiliations,  such  as  they  were,  had 
thrown  her  with  the  most  fashionable  set,  with  those 
who  would  in  a  lower  walk  of  life  have  been  termed 
"  sporting  "  people ;  with  the  Creoles,  French,  Ger 
man,  Cubans,  all  imported  in  the  nineteenth  century 
to  make  their  fortunes,  not,  as  in  the  earlier  two,  to 
secure  (so  we  are  told)  civil  or  religious  liberty. 
His  lot  lay  with  the  Rastacqs,  Einsteins,  Duvals — 
not  with  the  Dutch  Breviers,  the  colonial  Philipses, 
or  the  later,  New  England-born,  American  families. 
A  fortunate  introduction  of  old  Mr  Gresham's  had 
indeed  brought  her  to  the  Havilands,  with  whom  she 
had  immediate  sympathy ;  leaving  them  out,  "  Lucie  " 

302 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Gower  (she  would  probably  have  said)  was  the  best 
man  type  she  had  encountered  in  New  York — in  what 
is  called  "  Society."  And  Lucie,  honest  fellow,  was 
no  Admirable  Crichton  nor  yet  a  Sidney,  though  a 
very  parfait  gentilman  in  his  way. 

Without  any  pose,  even  to  herself,  therefore,  she 
had  seen  (resolved,  made  up  her  mind,  are  phrases 
too  expressive  of  a  conscious  determination)  that 
she  should  never  marry.  Thus  it  came  about  that 
she  had  rather  lost  her  interest  in  the  upper  ten ; 
without  attempting  any  breadwinning  vocation  (for, 
like  a  Southerner,  she  assumed  that  a  lady  nec 
essarily  had  an  income)  she  found  her  interest  in 
the  study,  in  the  service,  of  the  lower  million.  In 
the  vulgar  phrase,  she  never  "  thought  about  young 
men." 

She  had  been  interested  in  young  Pinckney  very 
much  indeed.  She  liked  him;  but  more  than  that, 
she  felt  a  latent  strength,  an  ability,  even  a  heart, 
which  might  accomplish  ends  she  saw,  but  which  her 
own  sex  prevented  her  from  attaining.  She  was 
casually  aware  that  he  was  married,  but  gave  the 
matter  not  a  second  thought;  it  was  not  a  thing 
that  concerned  her.  If,  indeed,  his  wife  could  be. 
to  them  all  that  Gracie  was — could  share  in  their 
work,  hers  and  her  friends',  as  Gracie  did — but  some 
thing,  her  own  knowledge  of  the  Duval-Rastacq  set, 

303 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

or  a  paragraph  she  chanced  upon  in  the  Times,  made 
her  know  that  this  might  not  be. 

Her  own  pathway  in  life  seemed  quite  clear  to 
her.  If  there  was  a  doubt — despite  her  half-Catholic 
ancestry — it  was  on  religious  matters.  And  this 
doubt,  merely  intellectual,  never  disturbed  her  peace. 
"  I  must  be  emerald."  Whatever  truth  God  chose  to 
withhold  from  our  full  knowledge  in  this  world,  the 
duty  of  man  or  woman  was  plain  enough ;  and  with 
it  went  the  duty  to  believe,  to  hope,  the  duty  to  be 
happy.  Yet  never  had  her  assurance — perhaps,  be 
fore  then,  vague,  or  at  least  undefined — been  put  in 
words  to  her  so  clearly  as  by  Mr  Pinckney  on  that 
yesterday.  It  was  in  the  frank  leap  of  her  heart  with 
sympathy  on  this  that  her  eyes,  too  little  self-con 
scious,  had  fallen  to  his  and  seen  suddenly  the  open 
chamber  of  his  soul.  She  had  seen  a  moment  of  hush, 
of  awe  at  the  awakening,  a  look  in  his  wide-open  eyes 
like  a  deer's  when  first  he  hears  the  horn ;  then,  with 
a  fear  now  in  her  own,  the  awe  give  place  to  the  full 
radiance  that  streamed  in  every  chamber  of  his  heart. 
As  yet  innocent,  the  man's  eyes  stayed  still  and  open, 
deeply  simple,  looking  no  afterthought,  struck  mo 
tionless,  with  yet  no  thought  of  after-things.  She 
had  seen  the  annunciation  of  his  love.  And  then, 
first,  she  had  turned  her  own  eyes  away.  She  had 
seen  too  much;  and  for  all  the  mists  that  she  might 

304 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

weave  between  them,  the  sight  might  never  go.  So 
it  came  about  that  while  in  his  heart  there  was  still 
nothing  but  the  awe  of  happiness,  there  came  in 
hers  a  horror  at  what  she  had  done.  Yes,  done;  she 
tried,  in  the  night,  to  think  it  otherwise,  to  persuade 
herself  that  she  had  erred  in  believing  that  his  ecstasy 
had  in  any  way  been  personal,  individual,  growing 
from  the  nearness  of  her — but  she  could  not.  Both 
these  two,  of  many  other  things  they  had  in  common, 
could  not  deceive  themselves.  Like  Dante  at  Beat 
rice's  first  salutation,  she  had  seen  "  his  soul  pass  all 
the  bournes  of  ecstasy."  In  one  lightning  flash  she 
had  read  not  only  that  he  loved  her,  but  that  he  knew 
he  loved  her — read  it,  all  in  his  eyes  unaware.  And 
then  she  had  turned  her  own  away.  And  while  she 
slept,  of  a  tear  or  two  in  her  long  lashes  her  spirit 
set  itself  to  weave  its  mists. 


XXXVI 

WAKEFUL  at  dawn,  the  girl  lay  in  her  bed, 
glad  of  the  darkness  of  her  room,  so  red 
she  felt  her  face  when  she  thought  of  their  position ; 
then  the  woman  in  her  would  have  its  turn  and  she 
would  feel  that,  after  all,  the  visit  might  be  lived 
through.  She  had  perfect  confidence  in  his  breeding, 

305 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  his  self-restraint.  She  knew  well  that  not  again 
while  he  was  under  her  roof  would  he  show  to  her 
that  he  had  come  to  be  in  love  with  her.  But  there! 
and  now  again  the  woman  smiled  as  the  girl  blushed 
— as  if  every  modulation  of  his  voice,  every  tremor 
of  his  mouth,  the  very  aversion  of  his  eyes,  did  not 
tell  her,  more  importunately  than  any  words,  and  he 
all  unaware.  Of  one  thing,  indeed,  she  was  certain: 
his  inclination  (so  she  euphemized  it  to  herself)  must 
be  hastily  destroyed,  eradicated — could  he,  would  he, 
do  it,  of  himself?  An  instinct  told  her  the  nega 
tive.  And  so,  in  the  morning,  the  girl  arose — a 
woman.  And,  with  a  woman's  swift  decision,  she 
went  away. 

But  if  it  was  the  girl  again  who  galloped  to  the 
station,  it  was  the  woman  who  reflected,  on  the  train 
to  Baltimore,  that  perhaps  all  which  must  now  never 
be  said,  or  even,  from  that  day  on,  in  her  own 
thoughts,  admitted,  was  emphasized,  and  emphasized 
even  to  him,  by  this  very  action  on  her  part.  What 
would  he  think  of  her?  It  had  been  understood  that 
he  was  to  leave  that  morning,  but  nothing  had  been 
said  about  her  going  away ;  moreover,  he  was  going 
by  a  later  train,  and  her  grandmother  never  came 
down  till  noonday.  She  doubtless  could  be  trusted 
to  make  some  explanation,  but  Miss  Ravenel  did  not 
care  to  have  her  have  to.  And  the  granddaughter 

306 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

never  under  any  circumstances  whatever  told  even 
the  whitest  of  lies.  If  things  had  so  come  about 
even  that  Pinckney  had  asked  her,  on  this  very  morn 
ing,  if  she  had  seen  his  love  for  her,  she  would  have 
answered  that  she  had.  So  that  if,  on  the  one  hand, 
it  had  been  absolutely  necessary  to  leave  him  (almost 
of  this,  now,  the  woman  in  her  doubted),  it  was  vitally 
so  that  he  should  not  put  the  true  construction  on  it. 
He  must  never  know — never  know  on  earth — that  she 
had  seen  so  deeply  into  his  heart. 

But  there  was  no  train  back  to  Ravenel  that  morn 
ing,  and  at  this  very  moment,  perhaps,  there  was 
coming  to  Austin  alone  in  the  shadowed  valley  that 
"  mist  of  tears  and  a  blinding  rain  "  whereafter,  says 
Macdonald,  life  is  never  the  same  again.  Mary 
Ravenel  half -knew  it.  Some  cry  of  the  wounded 
rang  even  to  her  heart's  core.  But  she  (so  doubt 
less  that  Maiden  of  Florence  of  whom  to  Dante  his 
vision  spoke: 

"  She  is  born  who,  though  not  yet  her  hair  is  up,  my 
city  shall  endear" — 

how  strangely  modern  the  grim  poet's  words  echo 
down  that  stair  of  countless  yesterdays!) — she  knew 
wholly  that  the  only  cure  lay  in  the  knife.  For  women 
are  trained,  almost  from  infancy,  to  read  men  ;  a  girl, 
for  her  own  protection,  must  understand,  not  what 

307 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  man  says,  but  what  he  means.  It  is  those,  alas ! 
who  do  not,  that  play  the  fool.  While,  as  to  those 
who  do  so  read  and  use  their  knowledge  wrongly — 
what  shall  we  call  their  "play"?  Of  neither  class 
had  God  created  Mary  Ravenel. 

But,  if  the  girl  had  used  the  knife,  the  woman 
bade  her  hide  it  from  him.  He  must  not  know  her 
rede.  And  now,  how  could  she  keep  it  from  him? 
She  had  left,  of  course,  a  note  for  her  grandmother 
and  a  message  for  him — "  she  was  sorry  that  she  had 
had  to  go  away  so  early  "  — that  alone,  however,  would 
not  suffice.  And  Baltimore  was  not  far  enough  away. 
Moreover,  there  was  little  excuse  for  her  going  by  the 
early  morning  train — he  would  certainly  have  taken 
it  if  he  had  known — nor  for  her  staying  there,  if  by 
remote  possibility  he  prolonged  his  visit  to  Mrs  War- 
field.  She  must  not  appear  to  run  away ;  and  her 
grandmother,  out  of  mere  good  breeding,  was  likely 
to  insist  the  more  on  his  staying  on,  so  brusque  would 
appear  her  departure.  So  Miss  Ravenel  knit  her 
virginal  white  brows. 

Fortunately,  the  matter  was  settled  by  a  telegram 
from  her  father.  It  was  the  family  custom  to  use 
a  cousin's  house — Basil  Conynghame's — as  an  ad 
dress  for  telegrams,  to  be  forwarded  thence,  as  occa 
sion  demanded,  by  messenger  or  telephone,  there 
being  no  operator  at  Ravenel.  Here  also  Miss 

308 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Ravenel  was  in  the  habit  of  keeping  a  simple  ward 
robe,  a  dinner  dress,  enough  for  her  necessities  should 
work  or  weather  keep  her  in  the  city.  (Conynghame 
himself  lived  with  his  Order ;  but  he  maintained  the 
house,  even  after  his  mother's  death  left  him  alone.) 
The  telegram  was  to  the  effect  that  urgent  business 
necessities  demanded  her  immediate  presence  in  New 
York,  where  her  father  would  meet  her  at  Mr  Gresh- 
am's  office.  There  was  just  time  to  have  the  message 
forwarded  to  her  grandmother  and  for  her  to  catch 
the  ten  o'clock  train.  Thus  it  happened  that  at  the 
very  hour  when  Austin,  returned  again  to  the  laurel 
valley,  was  burying  her  memory  in  his  heart,  Miss 
Ravenel  herself  was  on  her  way  to  his  own  office  in 
New  York. 

As  she  was  getting  her  Pullman  seat,  she  noticed, 
in  the  file  ahead  of  her,  the  unusual  beauty  of  a  young 
lady  who  seemed,  like  herself,  to  be  traveling  alone; 
and,  coming  into  the  car,  she  found  herself  in  a  chair 
opposite  the  stranger.  She  was  quietly  dressed,  with 
an  expression  at  once  modest  and  intelligent ;  she  did 
not  seem  to  notice  the  men  who  came  into  the  car, 
and  Miss  Ravenel  was  particularly  struck  by  her 
having  all  the  morning  newspapers.  She  herself  had 
one  (being  addicted  in  her  "  strong-minded  "  way, 
as  other  women  might  have  phrased  it,  to  the  read 
ing  of  them,  for  her  interest  in  life),  but  this  un- 

309 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

feminine  habit  (she  supposed),  like  the  latchkey  and 
the  bicycle,  was  due  to  her  general  revolt  against 
what  was  expected  of  her  who  ought  (she  supposed) 
by  right  to  have  been  riding  in  a  governess's  cart 
with  other  people's  children  instead  of  living  her 
own  life  in  a  New  York  flat  and  traveling  thither  un 
attended.  .  At  all  events,  it  was  unusual  to  see  an 
other  young  woman  reading  newspapers ;  and  Miss 
Ravenel  gave  her  vis-a-vis  a  second  glance,  noticing 
this  time  that  she  was  blond  and  had  a  very  wonder 
ful  complexion  of  the  real  "  peaches-and-cream " 
variety,  where  to  perfect  fairness  is  joined  so  delicate 
a  skin  that  the  carmine  flood  swells  under  it  like  the 
juices  of  a  nectarine.  She  seemed,  by  her  figure,  to 
be  a  woman  some  years  older  than  herself,  although 
her  face  might  have  been  of  any  age  of  youth,  and 
Miss  Ravenel,  not  wishing  to  stare,  looked  herself  to 
see  what  might  be  of  such  interest  in  the  papers. 
She  found  nothing,  but  it  was  perhaps  because  she 
omitted,  as  was  her  wont,  both  the  "  Society  "  and 
the  financial  pages ;  still  she  read  on,  having,  per 
haps,  a  reason  for  desiring  to  escape  her  own 
thoughts. 

She  was  wrong,  however,  it  appeared,  in  thinking 
the  other  alone,  for  hardly  were  they  out  of  the  tun 
nel  before  a  fashionably  attired  young  man  appeared 
and  took  the  chair  beside  her.  Miss  Ravenel  half- 

310 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

fancied  she  saw  a  startled  look  in  her  eyes  as,  with 
an  assumption  of  the  greatest  familiarity,  he  ad 
dressed  her. 

"  Well,  Miss  Aylwin,  you  won  out  this  time. 
Tamms  is  all  done  up.  I've  only  got  a  week  to  get 
ashore  myself.  I  wish  I  had  a  smart  girl  like  you 
in  my  office."  It  was  impossible  not  to  overhear  the 
strident,  overbearing  voice,  even  had  not  the  next 
words  concerned  herself.  "  Where  did  you  leave 
Pinckney?  " 

"  In  Baltimore —  Miss  Ravenel  looked  away. 
"  He  had  other  business  in  Baltimore." 

"  Hm,  hm — I  guess  his  business  was  in  New  York 
— look  at  that—"  and  the  Jew  (as  Mary  Ravenel  now 
saw  he  was)  pressed  his  forefinger  upon  the  opened 
newspaper  that  lay  upon  the  woman's  knee.  The  fair 
girl  shrank  away  from  him  and  looked,  in  evident 
terror,  at  Miss  Ravenel,  so  that  our  heroine,  who  was 
about  to  change  her  seat,  stayed.  Shall  it  be  con 
fessed,  however,  that  her  curiosity  led  her  to  look  at 
the  same  page  of  her  own  newspaper?  The  first  four 
columns  (though  it  was  a  Baltimore  paper)  were 
given  up  to  a  New  York  dispatch  describing  the 
Duval  ball,  for  this  important  annual  function  had 
taken  place  on  the  night  before. 

"  I  don't  mean  that,"  the  man  went  on,  as  if  read 
ing  her  thoughts.  The  remaining  columns  bore  the 

311 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

headline :  Panic  on  Wall  Street — reported  embarrass 
ment  of  Phineas  W.  Tamms.  "  Tamms  went  on  last 
night,  and  so,  I  guess,  did  your  young  man."  There 
was  a  shuddering  vulgarity  about  the  voice,  and 
again  Miss  Ravenel  set  herself  not  to  hear;  but  just 
then  it  sank  to  a  whisper.  Not  for  one  moment  did 
she  question  their  relation — she  had  read  too  deeply 
in  the  man's  heart  for  that — but  it  was  an  odd  coin 
cidence  ;  she  could  not  be  his  wife,  for  Mrs  Pinckney, 
she  remembered,  was  rather  dark,  and,  moreover,  a 
Philadelphian,  while  this  girl,  Miss  Ravenel  was  per 
suaded,  was  country  bred  and  from  New  England. 
And  what  was  this  sleek  Hebrew  doing  in  the  trio? 
Whoever  he  was,  it  was  clear  that  he  was  highly  dis 
tasteful  to  the  fair  young  woman.  His  voice  had  now 
sunk  to  an  insinuating  whisper,  and  his  hand  rested  on 
the  back  of  her  chair.  "  Oh,  I  spotted  you  coming 
down !  "  Miss  Ravenel  overheard ;  then  a  long,  per 
suasive  monotone  throughout  which  the  woman  be 
trayed  increased  distress.  Could  it  be  that  she  does 
not  know  how  to  get  rid  of  him?  thought  Miss  Rave 
nel.  She  tried  to  look  away.  "  Twice  the  salary," 
said  the  unctuous  voice.  Suddenly  she  saw  the  woman 
start  and  give  a  despairing  glance  at  her  while  a  flood 
of  carmine  swept  across  her  face.  "  Well,  at  any 
rate,  you'll  come  and  dine  with  me,"  the  man  was 
saying. 

312 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

It  is  said  that 

".   .   .   every  gentle  maid 
Should  have  a  guardian  in  each  gentleman — " 

but  the  poet's  words  were  written  for  Americans ; 
and  Miss  Ravenel  understood,  with  a  woman's  free 
masonry,  the  signals  of  the  other  woman's  face.  She 
crossed  the  aisle  and  sat  in  the  chair  by  her  side  just 
as  the  man  was  about  to  sink  into  it.  "  When  shall 
we  have  our  lunch,  Miss  Aylwin  ?  "  she  said  meaningly. 
It  was  fortunate  that  she  had  overheard  the  name. 
And  Miss  Ravenel  could  look — or  rather  overlook — 
Mr  Markoff  in  a  manner  that  caused  that  gentleman, 
who  could  bully  a  woman  whom  he  knew  to  be  a  type 
writer  but  would  cringe  before  any  who  seemed  to 
him  a  lady,  to  take  himself  off  in  evident  embarrass 
ment,  stammering  that  he  had  thought  Miss  Aylwin 
was  traveling  alone.  It  afterwards  occurred  to  him 
that  this  was  not  the  best  thing  to  have  said,  but 
Markoff  was  not  yet  quick  at  social  matters.  "  That 
girl  is  a  swell,  I  am  sure,"  he  said  to  himself ;  and  he 
wondered  how  much  she  had  overheard,  or,  rather, 
how  much  she  would  tell  in  New  York.  He  cared 
little  what  Miss  Aylwin  might  tell  to  Pinckney  or 
even  to  Gresham ;  that  was  all  in  the  way  of  business ; 
it  was,  of  course,  open  to  him  to  acquire  information 
about  the  enemy's  camp  even  by  the  method  of 
21  313 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

making  love  to  his  typewriter ;  moreover  (Markoff 
felt),  he  had  a  hold  upon  Pinckney;  he  and  Miss 
Aylwin  were  stopping  at  the  same  hotel;  Pirickney's 
story  would  only  be  good  until  that  were  told,  he 
reflected.  But  Markoff  was  crazily  anxious  to  get 
into  society ;  and  he  feared  the  ridicule  of  his  inef 
fectual  attempt  might  hurt  him  with  Mrs  Levison- 
Gower.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  maidens  did 
not  talk  about  such  things. 

Meantime  Mary  Ravenel  was  talking  almost  inti 
mately  with  the  grateful  Miss  Aylwin.  She  told  her 
that  Mr  Pinckney  had  been  visiting  at  her  grand 
mother's  house,  and  that  the  mention  of  his  name  had 
emboldened  her  to  intervene.  In  return,  Miss  Aylwin 
explained  how  she  had  come  to  be  employed  in  their 
office ;  she  talked  of  her  life  in  New  York,  of  Newport, 
and  Miss  Ravenel  began  to  be  much  interested  in  her 
mind.  She  was  from  Hadley,  Mass.,  she  explained, 
and  "  had  never  been  out  in  society."  But  she  was 
professionally  reticent  about  their  business,  or  what 
had  brought  her  and  Mr  Pinckney  on  to  Baltimore 
together.  Oddly  mature  in  matters  of  men's  affairs, 
of  high  finance,  even  of  law,  she  was  curiously  imma 
ture  in  everything  else.  In  vain  Miss  Ravenel  tried 
to  find  out  how  she  spent  her  leisure ;  it  was  only  evi 
dent  that  she  had  taken  up  no  work,  no  charity,  noth 
ing  of  the  things  that  interested  Miss  Ravenel  herself. 

314 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

But  when  the  latter  young  lady  read  from  her  news 
paper  the  full  account  of  the  Allegheny  Central 
meeting  of  yesterday,  and  the  dialogue  between  him 
and  Markoff,  she  became  more  communicative. 

"  That  was  the  very  man,"  she  said.  "  He  is 
horrid.  And  it  doesn't  do  for  me  to  know  any  man 
— living,  as  I  do,  alone  in  New  York." 

"  You  must  come  to  my  classes,"  said  Miss 
Ravenel,  seeing  at  once  a  proselyte  and  a  pupil. 
"  And  why  not  see  men  ?  There  are  plenty  of  par 
ties,  dinners — 

"  Oh,  if  I  were  in  society !  "  said  the  other,  with 
a  sigh. 

She  was  little  interested  in  Mary  Ravenel's  de 
scription  of  her  work.  The  poorer  classes,  it  seemed, 
did  not  appeal  to  her.  In  return,  she  explained  to 
Miss  Ravenel  the  effect  of  their  action  on  the  stock 
market ;  why  the  Allegheny  Pacific  stocks  were  in  a 
panic  and  the  Centrals  strong;  then,  after  their 
lunch,  Mary  noticed  that  she  read  from  end  to  end 
the  four  columns  of  the  Duval  ball.  "  Why,  here's 
a  picture  of  Mrs  Pinckney,"  she  said.  Miss  Ravenel 
looked  at  it. 

"  If  it's  as  bad  as  the  one  of  Mrs  Gower,  it's  not 
much  like  her." 

"  Oh,  do  you  know  her?  Mrs  Gower,  I  mean?  I 
have  tried  to  get  some  one  to  point  her  out  to  me 

315 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

at  the  opera,  but  they're  never  sure.  I  think  I  saw 
her  once  driving  in  the  park ;  at  least  it  was  Mr 
Gower;  they  had  bay  horses  and  plum-colored  liver 
ies,  and  he  wore  a  camellia  in  his  buttonhole,  and 
she  had  such  splendid  roses !  Do  you  suppose  that 
really  was  the  dress  she  wore  at  the  ball?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  didn't  go,"  laughed  Miss 
Ravenel. 

"  Could  you  have  gone?  "  asked  the  other  long 
ingly.  "  Forgive  me,  I  did  not  mean  to  be  imper 
tinent " 

And  Miss  Ravenel  began  to  talk  to  the  older 
woman  like  a  teacher  to  a  child.  Coming  to  New 
York,  they  got  an  afternoon  paper.  Markoff  only 
once,  hurriedly,  passed  through  the  car.  He,  too, 
was  reading  the  paper — a  pinkish  one — and  it  bore, 
in  letters  two  inches  high,  the  caption  "  Corner  in 
Allegheny  Central." 

"What  is  a  corner,  I  wonder?" 

"  Oh,  I  can  tell  you  all  about  it !  "  said  Miss  Ayl- 
win.  The  roles  were  suddenly  reversed.  And  she 
told  how  stocks  were  bought  and  sold,  "  long  "  or 
"  short,"  and  how  sometimes  the  seller  had  not  the 
stock  he  sold  and  had  to  buy  at  any  price,  and  how 
that  made  a  "  corner." 

"  My  little  fortune  is  in  Allegheny  Central,"  said 
Miss  Ravenel. 

316 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Miss  Aylwin  looked  at  the  papers  in  her  lap.  She 
was  sorting  them,  and  the  documents  were  "  backed," 
in  large  letters,  "  Gresham,  Radnor,  Daubeny,  and 
Haviland."  This,  indeed,  had  at  first  emboldened 
Miss  Ravenel  to  speak  to  her. 

"  Keep  it  till  the  end  of  the  week,"  she  said.  "  It 
is  no  time  to  sell  to-day."  And  Miss  Ravenel  looked 
again  with  curiosity  at  the  fair  face  beside  her,  so 
wise  in  matters  of  money,  so  innocent  in  ways  of  the 
world.  Here  was  a  problem  differing — in  degree, 
indeed,  if  not  in  kind — from  that  of  her  working 
girls. 

Neither  of  them  could  afford  a  carriage ;  so,  get 
ting  out  at  the  Desbrosses  Street  ferry,  they  walked 
to  Wall  Street  together. 

Mr  Markoff  drove  rapidly  away  in  his  cab. 


XXXVII 

THAT  Friday,  it  was  said,  Allegheny  Central 
touched  the  price  of  $1,000  per  share.  Even 
Mrs  Gower,  in  her  Berkshire  fastness,  turned  pale 
as  she  read,  the  next  morning,  how  much  she  might 
have  realized.  "  Baby  "  Malgam — to  whose  acquaint 
ance  Markoff  had  now  attained — sulked  for  an  hour 
when  he  next  called  upon  her.  Jacob  Einstein,  whose 

317 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ideal  it  is  to  be  "  worth  "  $100,000,000,  cannot  yet 
speak  of  it  without  tears.  But  very  few  of  us  realize 
our  ideals  in  this  world.  Jacob  Einstein's  $100,000,- 
000  will  doubtless  be  appreciated  to  their  full  value 
in  the  next.  Meantime  August  Markoff  was  getting 
very  busy  on  earth.  Tamms  was  invisible.  And  Jim 
Starbuck,  agitator,  returned  to  his  old  field  in  the 
coal  lands  of  the  great  railway  and  asked  whether, 
in  view  of  the  fact  that  the  stock  of  the  corporation 
which  employed  them  had  been  made  worth  $1,000 
per  share — necessarily  by  their  own  labor — they 
deemed  their  wages  of  eighty  cents  for  eleven  hours 
quite  sufficient. 

Very  little  conscious  of  these  things,  but  much 
concerned  about  her  father,  Mary  Ravenel  had  sent 
her  name  to  Mr  Gresham's  private  room.  With  that 
deference  which  he  always  showed  her  she  was  ushered 
in  by  the  old  gentleman  himself,  and  found  her  father 
awaiting  her.  That  gentleman  rushed  up  effusively, 
but  was  arrested  by  a  wave  of  Mr  Gresham's  hand. 
"  This  is  a  business  interview,  please,  Mr  Breese,  and 
we  will  conduct  it  as  such.  You  and  I  are  Miss 
Ravenel's  trustees,  and  she,  with  others,  is  our  cestui 
que  truste." 

"Others?"  said  Mr  Breese. 

"  Others — her  issue,  or,  failing  such,  yourself. 
Now  you,  I  understand,  after  selling  her  proxy  and 

318 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

selling  your  own,  have  also,  quite  without  authority, 
sold  her  200  shares  of  Allegheny  Central  stock." 

"  Short,"  said  Mr  Miles.  "  But  who  could  have 
expected  this?  My  friend  Tamms — 

"  He  will  shortly  be  better  occupied  behind  the 
bars  of  Dannemora.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case." 

"  But  the  stock  is  certain  to  fall  again.  I 
only  want  to  borrow  it  for  a  few  days.  If  I  cannot, 
I  am  ruined."  Mr  Gresham  remained  perfectly 
calm. 

"  There  are  others  to  be  considered.  And  not 
Miss  Ravenel  alone.  I  have  little  doubt  she  would  be 
willing  enough  to  let  you  have  it — 

"  Oh,  yes !  "  cried  the  girl,  clasping  her  hands. 

"  But  it  is  impossible,  quite  impossible." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr  Breese,  "  but  one  thing  remains 
for  me  to  do — I  must  make  an  assignment." 

"  Father,  you  know  that  all  I  can  give  you  is 
yours."  There  was  a  knock  upon  the  outer  door ; 
Miss  Aylwin  entered.  "  Mr  Markoff,"  said  she. 

"  Let  him  wait — or  stay  one  moment,"  said  Mr 
Gresham.  "  Mr  Breese,  are  you  willing  to  relinquish 
this  trust  entirely — wind  it  up,  liquidate  it,  in  fact? 
Your  remainder  interest  is  of  little  value — the  likeli 
hood  of  your  outliving  Miss  Ravenel  is  not  great — 
she  may  marry.  The  book  value  of  the  stock  is 

319 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

$20,000.  If  I  could  get  you  this  sum,  would  you 
go?" 

"  Go?  "  said  the  old  man,  with  a  start. 

"  Go — get  out,  I  mean,  to  speak  plainly !  Leave 
me  to  deal  with  your  daughter  alone.  With  her  con 
sent,  I  might  risk  it.  Take  the  $20,000  and  leave  us 
alone.  A  trip  abroad  would  do  you  good." 

"  But  I  am  pledged  to  deliver  the  stock,"  said 
Mr  Breese. 

This  argument  did  not  seem  to  impress  Mr 
Gresham.  "  Here,  read  over  this  paper,  and,  if  you 
like  it,  you  and  Miss  Ravenel  must  sign  it.  I'll  let 
you  know  if  I  can  manage  it,  at  your  address  up 
town.  Miss  Aylwin,  show  Mr  Markoff  in."  And,  as 
the  others  went  out,  Markoff  entered  with  Radnor, 
the  latter  in  a  high  state  of  excitement.  Miss 
Aylwin  had  disappeared  with  Mary  Ravenel  and 
Mr  Breese.  Markoff  just  escaped  meeting  them 
again. 

"  I  have  been  telling  Mr  Radnor  that  it  is  hands 
down  with  us,"  smiled  Markoff  insinuatingly.  And 
his  air  of  frankness  sat  upon  him  like  dew  upon  the 
rose. 

"  And  I've  been  telling  Mr  Markoff  that  it's 
'hands  up'  with  Tamms,"  said  Radnor. 

"  Mr  Pinckney  promised  to  give  us  a  week,"  said 
Markoff  suavely. 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  In  which  Mr  Tamms  was  to  make  his  assign 
ment,"  said  Radnor. 

Markoff  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  On  two  con 
ditions,"  he  said,  and  hesitated.  "  And  one  is " 

"  And  one  is  ?  "  growled  Gresham. 

"  That  I'm  to  be  appointed  assignee." 

"  There  is  no  one  in  whose  hands  I'd  rather  see 
Phineas  W.  Tamms,"  assented  Mr  Gresham  gravely. 
Markoff  smiled  still  more  deprecatingly. 

"  And  then " 

"And  then?" 

"  You're  not  to  press  this  Miners'  Bank  loan 
before  the  assignment — 

"  Nor,  I  suppose,  sell  the  collateral 


"  Nor  the  Chesapeake  Trust  Company's " 

"  It's  all  the  same  thing " 

"It  wasn't,"  laughed  Markoff,  "before  Mr 
Pinckney  got  that  writing  from  my  client!  You 
know  that  was  devilish  clever  of  him? — Here's  the 
assignment  already  signed  by  my  client,  and  dated 
next  Tuesday.  That's  just  a  week.  Of  course,  you 
throw  in  the  first  day."  And  Markoff  tossed  the 
paper  over. 

"  About  your  client,"  said  Mr  Gresham.  "  All 
this  without  prejudice  to  any  prosecution  against 
him  for  fraud?  " 

"  Oh,  perfectly,  though  I  don't  think  you'll  find 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

anything!      He    did    everything    under    my    advice. 
And  I " 

"  You  are  protected  by  your  privilege  from 
testifying?  " 

"  It  isn't  exactly  what  I  was  about  to  say — 

"  It  will  do,"  said  Radnor  explosively.  "  Any 
thing  else?  " 

"  I  think  we  understand  each  other — 

"  I  think  we  do,"  said  the  Welshman,  with  an 
oath.  "  Anything  else,  Gresham  ?  " 

"  Radnor,  you  are  altogether  too  impulsive. 
Now,  I  find  this  conversation  most  interesting. 
We'll  say  next  Tuesday,  then,  for  that  little  paper? 
Meantime  the  Allegheny  Pacific — ah — securities  are 
to  be  called  in  without  contest?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  «  meantime,'  "  said  Markoff.  "  At 
least,  I  don't  think  I  did — the  agreement  signed  in 
Baltimore  will  show — 

"  Mr  Markoff's  word  is  as  good  as  his  bonds," 
said  Radnor  in  honeyed  tones :  no  Celt  could  resist 
the  final  s.  Markoff  winced. 

"  Of  course  the  Pacifies  are  to  be  canceled,  but 
it  must  not  be  known  for  a  week.  The  fact  is  " 
and  again  the  Hebrew  beamed  frankness—"  I  haven't 
worked  off  all  my  own  stock  yet.  The  Centrals,  then, 
you  insist  on  selling  out  Monday  '  under  the  rule,' 
if  Tamms  assigns  that  day  ?  " 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Well,  we  thought  of  taking  them  over  our 
selves,"  said  Mr  Gresham. 

Markoff  held  on  to  his  face  very  hard.  "  In  that 
event,  I  must  again  beg  for  secrecy.  The  fact  is," 
he  added,  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  now  confessed 
the  last,  "  I  am  a  little  short  of  Allegheny  Central 
myself." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Gresham.  "  Would  200  shares 
— but  I  suppose  a  trifle  like  200  shares  would  be  of 
no  use  to  you." 

"  Of  the  greatest  possible  use " 

"  Twenty  thousand  dollars  ?  " 

"For  a  week?" 

"  For  two.  Miss  Aylwin  "  — he  rang  the  bell — 
"  get  Mr  Markoff  a  blank  cheque." 

"  On  what  bank,  sir?  "  said  the  girl,  looking  down. 

"  Oh,  any  bank  will  do !  Mr  Markoff  will  see  to 
that." 

"  Clever  girl,  that,"  said  the  unabashed  Markoff. 
Radnor  bounded  from  his  chair. 

"  You  have  met  her  before,  I  think?  " 

Markoff,  who  was  signing  the  cheque,  nodded. 

"  On  the  train  to  Baltimore,  I  think — 

"  On  the  train  to  Baltimore,  I  believe." 

"  And  on  the  train  coming  back,"  said  Radnor, 
who  had  had  a  word  with  Miss  Aylwin  in  the  outer 
office. 

323 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  No,  not  coming  back ;  only  going.  There, 
Mr  Gresham,  is  the  cheque." 

Radnor's  amazed  eyes  fixed  him  with  a  look  he 
bore  unblushingly. 

Mr  Gresham  had  to  take  up  the  conversation. 
"  There,"  he  said,  "  that  will  do.  Is  that  all?  " 

"  I  think  we  understand  one  another,"  said 
Markoff,  as  he  took  his  hat. 

"  Oh,  perfectly !  "  was  all  that  Mr  Radnor  could 
find  strength  to  say. 

"  I  feel  like  an  accomplice,"  said  Gresham  to  his 
partner ;  "  but,  after  all,  Pinckney  had  to  give  the 
promise,  and  the  only  person  injured  will  be  Tamms." 

Radnor  expressed  his  regret  that  Mr  Tamms  was 
again  going  to  escape  the  State  prison.  As  for 
Markoff,  he  thought  him  too  clever  for  any  sublunary 
punishment. 

"  Well,"  said  his  senior,  "  everything  may  turn 
out  for  the  best.  I  am  inclined  to  think  Tamms  will 
wish  he  had  been  there  before  his  astute  counsel  gets 
through  with  him." 

It  was  too  late  to  "  certify  "  Mr  Markoff's  cheque 
that  night,  but  Miss  Aylwin  was  dispatched  with  an 
other,  signed  by  Mr  Gresham  himself,  that  gentle 
man  only  remarking,  as  he  deposited  Markoff's  in 
the  safe,  that  he  considered  it  a  "  most  excellent 
security." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

She  hurried  uptown  on  the  Elevated.  The  ad 
dress  given  her  was  one  of  those  pretentious,  pro 
miscuous  apartment  houses  that  tower  to  the  west 
of  the  park.  But  it  happened  that  Mr  Breese,  re 
turning  in  a  carriage  with  his  daughter,  had  insisted 
on  leaving  her,  with  many  touching  protestations  of 
gratitude,  at  her  apartment  on  Lexington  Avenue. 
Miss  Ravenel  had  again  urged,  in  view  of  this  sudden 
accession  of  funds,  that  they  should  take  a  larger 
apartment,  and  together,  but  the  old  gentleman  had 
waved  the  suggestion  aside.  "  Any  little  corner  is 
enough  for  me — a  hall  bedroom,  anything — you 
know  I  still  have  my  club,  and  you  need  all  your  little 
income,  my  dear.  I  may  take  Gresham's  suggestion, 
and  go  away  for  a  time.  You  must  remember  this 
sum  comes  out  of  our  principal ;  moreover,  it  belongs, 
morally,  to  my  creditors."  And  poor  Mary  felt  re 
proved.  How  long  would  it  be,  after  all,  before 
women  would  gain  that  clear  grasp  of  financial  affairs 
so  natural,  apparently,  to  men?  And  did  that  mean 
that  her  income  was  now  to  be  reduced,  she  wondered? 
She  needed  it,  even  all  of  it,  for  certain  expenses  of 
her  classes ;  she  easily  got  money  for  them  by  letting 
her  wants  be  known,  but  she  would  take  no  pay  for 
her  own  services,  and  she  always  liked  to  give  a  little 
herself.  But  she  did  not  like  to  ask  the  question  lest 
her  father  should  think  she  grudged  him  his  capital. 

325 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  What  is  left  is  all  yours,  my  dear,"  her  father 
went  on.  "  I  have  had  to  take  mine,  but  now  I  must 
look  out  for  myself.  I  must  no  longer  take  any  of 
the  income  from  you."  Stating  a  duty  was,  to  Mr 
Breese's  mind,  as  good  as  performing  it — and  far 
pleasanter. 

So  he  drove  off  to  the  Piccadilly  Club,  that  being 
the  nearest,  where  he  partook  of  a  plurality  of  cock 
tails.  Miles  Breese  had  always  felt  that  he  could  do 
anything  with  a  woman ;  but  now  he  had  a  different 
job  before  him — the  doing  without  one.  It  was  well 
to  be  on  with  the  new  love  before  he  was  off  with  the 
old.  So,  before  going  to  West  Sixty-fourth  Street, 
he  made  a  call  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 

This  was  the  reason  that  Miss  Aylwin,  ringing 
the  bell  of  the  flat,  was  shot  up  an  elevator  and  ush 
ered  into  a  satin-furnished  parlor  by  a  darky  boy  of 
many  buttons  who,  taking  her  name  as  merely  "  the 
clerk  from  Gresham  &  Radnor's,"  announced  it 
through  a  crack  of  the  door  to  some  contiguous 
room  while  Miss  Aylwin  sat  down  and  waited.  She 
had  never  before  been  in  the  apartment  of  one  of 
the  Four  Hundred,  and  would  have  preferred  to  see 
the  home  of  some  great  lady ;  however,  old  Mr 
Breese  was  unquestionably  on  the  list,  and  there  were 
unmistakable  signs  of  some  feminine  presence.  There 
was  a  strong  scent  in  the  room,  not  of  flowers ;  on  a 

326 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tray  a  Japanese  pastil  was  still  burning;  and  in  a 
network  of  blue  ribbon  some  hundreds  of  photo 
graphs,  mostly  actresses  or  English  noblewomen, 
were  carelessly  displayed;  two  small  dogs  of  the 
breed  known  as  "  papillons  "  sat  with  the  china  dogs 
upon  the  hearth ;  the  former  moved  and  sniffed,  with 
a  bark  or  two,  about  her  ankles.  A  startling  chromo 
or  two  was  on  the  walls,  among  which,  curiously  out 
of  place,  was  the  framed  and  faded  photograph  of 
a  house  that  looked,  with  its  gables  and  its  well  sweep, 
its  grapevine-covered  stone  wall  and  apple  orchard, 
like  some  old  New  England  farm. 

The  dogs  seemed  to  be  heard,  for  a  woman's 
voice  came  through  the  thin  partition :  "  Please  wait, 
I  will  be  out  directly."  The  voice  was  certainly  not 
Miss  Ravenel's.  Miss  Aylwin  waited,  in  some  uncer 
tainty,  a  minute  more;  then  she  rang  the  bell,  and 
the  buttons  appeared.  "  I  have  come  to  see  Mr 
Breese,"  she  said.  "  I  can  come  back,  if  he  is  not  in." 

But  this  time  the  voice  answered  promptly, 
through  the  door,  "  Do  wait,  I'll  come  out  now." 
And  as  Miss  Aylwin,  despite  the  entreaty,  rose  to 
go,  the  door  suddenly  opened  and  a  large  red-haired 
woman  appeared,  buttoning  hastily  her  dressing 
sack ;  the  younger  woman  remembered  then  that 
she  had  seen  her  before — at  the  Ocean  House  at 
Newport.  She  was  still  handsome,  but  in  the  bright 

327 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

June  daylight  looked,  despite  the  whiteness  of  skin 
that  goes  with  such  red  hair,  rather  coarse  and  fully 
fifty. 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped,  releasing  the  one  button  she 
had  almost  succeeded  in  securing,  "  I  thought  it  was 
a  clerk — who  are  you?  "  Quite  regardless,  now,  of 
her  deshabille,  the  woman  crossed  her  legs  upon  a 
sofa  and  lit  a  cigarette.  Poor  Miss  Aylwin  shrank 
back,  with  all  a  young  girl's  modesty.  "  I  had  a 
cheque  for  Mr  Breese,"  she  stammered.  "  Are  you 
Mrs  Breese?  " 

"  Sure.  I'll  take  it  for  him."  But  as  she  spoke 
the  door  opened,  and  a  loud  voice  spoke: 

"  Miss  Aylwin,  I  hate  to  contradict  a  lady,  but 
this  one  is  Mrs  Beaumont  " — and  Mr  Breese  marched 
in.  "  Thank  you  for  the  cheque.  You  will  not,  I 
presume,  need  any  receipt?  I  am  only  sorry  you 
were  troubled  with  coming  here." 

Mrs  Beaumont,  or,  to  give  her  her  real  name, 
Jennie  Starbuck,  looked  from  one  to  the  other  with 
gathering  color. 

"  So  you  know  one  another,  do  you?  And  I'm 
to  be  cast  off,  now  I  no  longer  have  to  support  you?  " 

"  Jennie,"  said  the  old  man,  sternly,  "  the  cheque 
shall  be  yours — all  yours — see,  it  is  $20,000 — but 
you  shall  do  two  things.  You  shall  first  apologize 
for  what  you  have  said  to  her  and  of  me.  And  then 

328 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

you  will  say,  in  her  presence,  that  you  are  not  my 
wife." 

Mrs  Beaumont  took  the  cheque  and  looked  at  it 
curiously,  pulling  the  gown  about  her  neck.  Miss 
Aylwin  gathered  herself  up  on  her  shaking  knees, 
to  go. 

"  One  moment,  Miss  Aylwin.  God  knows  I  apolo 
gize,  but  you  must  see  this  through." 

"  Is  the  cheque  good?  "  said  Mrs  Beaumont. 

"  Miss — this  lady  will  tell  you  it  is  certified." 

"  Oh,  you  know  her  name  fast  enough !  Well, 
I'll  take  it.  I  guess  it's  worth  more  than  you  are. 
I  wouldn't  'a'  married  you,  anyhow." 

"  That  will  do,"  said  Breese,  writing  his  name 
on  the  cheque. 

"  As  for  this  lady —  Well,  you  always  liked  'em 
young,  Miles." 

Mr  Breese  hurried  Miss  Aylwin  through  the  door, 
opposite  which  still  stood  open  the  elevator  and,  one 
might  add,  its  open-mouthed  attendant.  "  I  am 
afraid  she  will  never  apologize." 

"  Oh,  it  doesn't  matter."  Miss  Aylwin  buried  her 
face  in  her  hands.  "  Why  did  they  ever  send  me 
here?  " 

"  Even  Mr  Gresham  didn't  realize  what  a  beast  I 
had  become,"  said  Breese.  "  I  can't  ask  you  to  for 
give  me,  and,  egad!  (that  chuckle  returned  to  his 
22  329 


IN     CUR£     OF     HER     SOUL 

voice  which  for  forty  years  had  made  him  so  popular 
at  clubs ;  Mr  Miles  Breese,  for  but  very  few  moments 
at  a  time,  could  tune  his  manner  to  the  note  of  trag 
edy)  you  mustn't  forget." 

But  it  was  with  every  possible  deference  and  mark 
of  respect  that  Mr  Breese  conducted  the  poor  girl 
through  the  hallway,  where,  calling  a  carriage,  he 
placed  her  in  it,  and  in  the  presence  of  the  porter 
gave  a  formal  good-by. 

The  next  evening  Miss  Aylwin,  reading  her  favor 
ite  society  column  of  her  favorite  paper,  in  the  "  gen 
teel  "  boarding  house  that  was  her  home,  came  upon 
the  following  announcement: 

"Colonel  Miles  Breese,  the  well-known  sportsman, 
sailed  this  morning  for  Europe  upon  the  Paris, 
accompanied  by  his  recent  bride,  formerly  Mrs  Cyrus 
H.  Snyder,  of  Pittsburg." 


XXXVIII 

TO  Mary  Ravenel,  living  alone  in  her  poor  little 
rooms  on  the  mean  street,  the  newspaper  was 
the  only  harbinger  of  her  father's  fortune.  For 
Miles  Breese's  better  self  usually  limited  its  activities 
to  the  recognition  of  its  worser.  He  never  acted 
upon  such  cognitions ;  and  Emerson  has  said  that 

330 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

high  emotions  not  resulting  in  the  corresponding 
actions  are  demoralizing  to  the  soul.  She  could  have 
wished  therefore  that  he  had  written  her  a  letter.  She 
thought  of  her  mother ;  whatever  it  was,  she  had 
atoned;  she  had  gone  to  the  end  of  him.  (The  end 
of  Miles  Breese  was  not  long.)  She  must  reconstruct 
her  life.  And  her  interest  was,  after  all,  humanity ; 
she  had  nothing  to  do  with  humanity  in  the  concrete, 
or,  indeed,  with  men :  for  them  the  path  of  gold, 
unaware  of  the  hedge  roses ;  her  heart  was  with  the 
women  working  alone. 

(Austin  Pinckney,  however,  was  working  alone, 
if  ever  a  man  was ;  and  his  heart  went  out  to  her  that 
very  day.  O  wasted  vibrations,  dull  ether  atoms, 
vain  vortices,  or  whatever  by  the  latest  authori 
ties  you  are,  that  can  transport  so  crass  a  thing 
as  heat,  and  not  the  will  of  mind !  Yet  Mary 
Ravenel  this  moment  was  burying  a  blush  unseen. 
From  now  on,  Austin  knew  his  heart;  she  was  hid 
ing  hers.) 

Her  heart  was  with  the  women  working  alone. 
Their  work  was  cheap ;  was  it,  after  all,  better  that 
they  should  work  at  all  ?  By  love  they  might  reign ; 
and  that  was  cheaper  still,  they  gave  it  away.  Was 
Ruskin,  after  all,  right,  when  crying  out  his  higher 
plea  upon  the  commonplaces  of  Wages-fund,  De 
mand,  Supply,  he  called  that  the  last  touch  of  wrong 

331 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

when  women,  superfluous,  demand  a  hold  on  the 
mattock  for  themselves  as  well?  And  now,  some  of 
her  friends — gentle,  secluded  Miss  Brevier  for  in 
stance — thought  the  ballot,  too,  might  help.  What 
was  the  result  of  all  their  labor?  In  factories,  a 
wage  upon  which  a  man  alone  could  live — so  wives 
must  also  work — or,  like  climbing  parasites,  unwork- 
ing  and  unwed,  draw  sustenance  from  other  lives,  in 
the  process  destroying  them,  shutting  out,  as  in  a 
tropic  forest,  the  air  of  heaven. 

(Woman,  says  our  major,  is  a  slave,  not  to  be 
entrusted  with  wealth  or  power.  Independent,  she 
is  crushed;  or,  if  dowered,  becomes  a  monster.  In 
normal  Islam,  a  man  may  see  four  women,  but,  as 
the  sheik  remarked  to  Lady  Duff  Gordon,  they  stay 
beneath  his  roof  for  life.  In  abnormal  Christendom, 
a  man  perhaps  has  seen  a  hundred,  and  cares  not 
where  they  die  or  where  their  babes  are  born.  Thus 
do  extremes  approach  each  other,  the  worldly-wise 
hark  back  to  savagery.) 

But  Mary  went  on  thinking.  Women's  rights? 
The  right  to  what?  The  right  to  be  hanged?  The 
right  to  live  their  lives  down  to  men's?  The  right 
to  the  primal  curse  of  labor.  Where  was  the  cure? 
In  Christianity,  in  the  amendment  of  living.  "  Lead 
the  life."  Who  would  believe  that  it  never  had  been 
tried?  Well,  she  would  try  it.  She  could  bid  others 

332 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

try  it.  She  could  make,  perhaps —  It  was  Dorothy 
she  now  was  thinking  of. 

She  must  telegraph  old  Mrs  Warfield.  She 
might  perhaps  not  see  that  morning's  papers  and 
she  would  think,  of  course,  that  this  had  been  her 
own  errand  in  New  York.  Well,  why  not?  Was 
not,  after  all,  this  the  urgent  business  of  her  father's 
telegram  ? 

She  had  thrown  herself  out  of  bed  and  was  hur 
riedly  dressing  herself.  She  might  get  the  morning 
train.  Why  not?  (Formulated,  her  thoughts  had 
been :  He  is  doubtless  gone  from  Ravenel.  Even  if 
not,  self-consciousness  was  shameful.  There  had  been 
no  betrayal  of  his  secret.  She  must  be  emerald.  But 
women  have  lettres-de-cachet  for  such  thoughts.) 

As  she  made  her  coffee,  she  threw  open  the  win 
dows  and  the  breath  of  June  came  in.  Far  away, 
above  the  housetops,  she  could  see,  when  it  was  clear, 
the  blue  line  of  the  Sound.  (It  was  very  clear  to-day.) 

Coming  down,  she  found  a  letter  from  Mr  Pinck- 
ney.  It  had  been  forwarded  by  her  grandmother 
from  Ravenel  and  was  dated  at  Wheeling.  A  "  bread- 
and-butter  "  letter— the  English  call  it  a  Collins, 
after  the  respectable  gentleman  so  named  in  one  of 
Jane  Austen's  novels.  There  was  no  reason  for  her 
hesitation  in  opening  it.  A  bread-and-butter — some 
say  board-and-lodging — letter.  Austin  himself  had 

333 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

so  entitled  it  when  writing  it,  and  made  it  a  model  of 
its  kind. 

"  Dear  Miss  Ravenel,"  it  ran  (he  was  not  daring 
the  possessive),  "  I  must  write  to  thank  you  for  your 
hospitality,  though  I  have  also  written  to  Mrs  War- 
field.  I  am  only  sorry  that  my  early  morning  walk 
should  have  caused  me  to  be  absent  when  you  were 
suddenly  called  to  the  city.  I  was  but  one  train  be 
hind  you ;  but  at  Baltimore  I  found  letters  which 
have  led  me  out  here.  Some  clients  have  got  a  coal 
mining  property,  on  which  the  men  are  refusing  to 
work.  I  am  so  glad  to  have  seen  Ravenel.  Believe 
me,  yours  very  sincerely —  Could  he  be  offended? 
Ah,  she  knew  too  well  that  he  was. not  offended. 
She  tore  up  the  note  and  went  into  the  street.  Her 
unseasonable  return  found  her  without  occupation. 
She  could  hardly  call  together  her  classes  for  a  day 
or  two.  Yet  for  some  reason  she  did  not  feel  like 
going  back  at  once  to  Ravenel.  The  long  summer 
was  before  her,  and  on  the  old  estate  there  was,  after 
all,  she  now  felt,  little  to  do.  She  never  before  had 
wished  she  were  a  man ;  but  now  she  half  formulated 
this  commonplace  to  herself.  After  all,  their  lives 
were  always  full  of  action.  True,  she  herself  had 
filled  her  Working  year  with  service — service  of  others 
— which,  after  all,  is  the  best  the  best  of  us  can  do, 
when  not  mere  adventurers,  self-seeking.  A  woman- 

334 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

adventurer  was  detestable.  She  had  known  such; 
not  in  the  vulgar  sense ;  Miss  Ravenel  included  in  her 
definition  young  ladies  consciously  intending  mar 
riage.  Common  life  is  labor,  the  higher  life  is  serv 
ice;  such  a  life  is  always  full.  It  is  the  idler,  the 
pleasure  seeker,  who  finds  life  empty.  All  the  same, 
a  woman's  life  is  liable  to  long  vacations.  The  inter 
est  is  not  continuous.  What  was  she  to  do  with  her 
self  just  now?  She  could  not  bring  herself  to  call 
upon  the  Havilands.  Her  father's  wedding  was  too 
recent.  That,  perhaps,  had  been  but  a  poor  idol ;  yet 
she  had  cherished  it.  Somehow,  now,  it  was  gone. 
The  faith  his  life  had  failed  to  shake  his  marriage 
had  overthrown.  She  blushed  a  little  as  she  remem 
bered  another  instance  in  her  life,  a  little  woolly  lamb 
that  she  had  had  when  four  years  old.  She  had 
always  carried  it,  for  years  and  years,  under  her  left 
arm.  The  legs  had  dropped  off,  one  by  one,  and  the 
wool  had  come  out,  until  finally  nothing  was  left  but 
a  little  fold  of  sheepskin.  Still  she  loved  it  more 
than  ever.  But  one  summer  she  was  taken  on  a  jour 
ney,  and  the  lamb  was  left  behind;  and  it  was  some 
years  after  before  she  found  it  again,  in  a  drawer,  a 
rag  of  skin  and  wool,  and  she  had  blushed  scarlet  to 
remember  how  she  had  loved  it  once. 

Then    she    tried    hard   not    to    be    too    fond    of 
Ravenel.     It  must  pass  out  of  her  life  in  a  year  or 

335 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

two,  she  knew.  Her  grandmother  was  very  fond  of 
her,  but,  coming  down  at  noon  and  ordering  the  farm, 
managed  distinctly  well  to  get  on  without  her.  Old 
lady  Warfield  was  no  bourgeoise ! — Mary  smiled  to 
herself,  rather  sadly — she  loved  her  en  aristocrate ; 
she  had  really  preferred  hearing  of  her  at  grand 
balls  to  having  her  all  the  time  at  Ravcnel.  Also, 
she  liked  quite  undivided  authority  there.  But  the 
beautiful  girl,  her  granddaughter,  was  to  take  her 
own  place  in  the  great  world,  and,  of  course,  to  marry 
well.  She  had  never  said  a  word  of  this,  but  Miss 
Ravenel  knew  well  enough  it  was  in  her  mind,  and 
felt  conscience  stricken  she  was  doing  so  little  not 
to  disappoint  her. 

There  was,  to  be  sure,  Freddy  Wiston.  His  roses 
had  lain  in  the  hall  with  Pinckney's  letter.  Poor 
little  Freddy  (he  weighed  over  two  hundred,  rosy 
and  chubby,  and  was  not  even  short,  but  somehow  one 
always  called  him  "  little  "  Fred  Wiston) — he  had 
his  delicate  perceptions,  despite  his  millions  and  his 
materialism,  and  he  had  known  that  she  would  like 
something  friendly  to-day.  He  could  not  come  to 
see  her,  of  course,  in  her  flat,  so  he  made  up  for  it 
by  frequent  flowers.  It  made  him  too  desperately 
unhappy  when  she  would  not  take  them ;  and  to  beg 
him  not  to  send  them  was  but  to  invite  another  pro 
posal.  He  had  seen  her  twice  or  thrice,  in  the  grand 

336 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

balls  of  her  first  season.  What  he  saw  in  her  she 
could  not  imagine — -he  was  a  shrewd  man  of  business, 
owner  of  mountains  of  iron  and  copper,  devoted  to 
the  making  of  millions,  and  had  proposed  to  her 
thirty-seven  times  in  the  ensuing  four  years.  Yet 
she  felt  that  she  never  could  say  yes. 

(She  came  near  it  once,  though.  It  was  some 
years  later  when  she  herself  was  being  discussed,  on 
her  first  return  from  Europe,  by  some  vulgar  Duval 
people.  One  didn't  think  she  had  ever  been  a  beauty, 
and  the  other  deplored  her  inability  to  marry-  Both 
doubted  her  ever  having  had  eligible  offers.  They 
were  two  great  ladies ;  and  Wiston  was  a  shy  and  still 
a  young  man —  But  at  this — Miss  Ravenel  had 
heard — he  interposed.  "  All  I  have  to  say,"  the  little 
gentleman  had  said,  "  is  that  she  could  have  married 
me  any  time  these  ten  years.") 

Well,  she  did  not,  usually,  even  write  to  acknowl 
edge  his  roses  now.  He  had  begged  her  not  to; 
and  it  was  well  understood  that  they— the  roses — • 
went  promptly  to  some  one  of  her  sick  pupils.  But 
to-day  she  wrote,  and  made  the  poor  fellow  happy 
for  a  day.  But  she  told  him  that  she  was  going 
to  leave  her  apartment,  so  that  he  must  send  no 
more. 

She  wrote  another  note — a  note  to  Miss  Aylwin, 
asking  her  to  come  and  see  her  that  evening.  She 

337 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  strangely  interested  in  this  handsome  girl,  who 
seemed,  in  some  way,  so  much  finer  than  her  mind. 
They  spent  the  evening  together.  Miss  Ravenel 
asked  her  to  go  to  the  philharmonic  concert.  But 
the  music  did  not  much  appeal  to  her:  she  seemed 
more  interested  in  the  people.  Also,  she  had  been 
disappointed  that  they  did  not  "  dress."  In  fine,  the 
result  was  rather  disappointing ;  she  tried  again  to 
interest  her  in  her  own  work,  but  Miss  Aylwin  seemed 
rather  fastidious  about  meeting  working  girls.  She 
didn't  even  seem  to  understand  why  Miss  Ravenel 
liked  to.  "  You  know,"  she  said,  "  you  can't  make 
them  any  different." 

"  Come  and  try,"  said  Miss  Ravenel. 

But  the  pretty  stenographer  shook  her  head. 
"  It's  all  very  well  for  you,"  she  said ;  "  you're  a  lady, 
a  society  lady.  You  can  do  things  ;  besides,  they  all 
look  up  to  you.  But  they'd  treat  me  like  one  of  them 
selves.  I've  served  an  apprenticeship — in  a  telephone 
school — it's  the  same  thing.  And  the  telephone  girls 
are  worse.  You  have  to  sit  alongside  of  a  girl,  per 
haps,  Avho  all  her  nights  and  Sundays  leads  a  gay 
life."  Miss  Aylwin  spoke  simply,  as  a  man  who 
recognizes  such  things,  but  Miss  Ravenel  repressed 
an  oh !  "I  mean  that  they  see  men  evenings,  and  not 
always  the  same  men.  They  used  to  show  me  their 
photographs  and  things.  Common  girls  are  just 

338 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

common  girls,  and  they  don't  want  to  be  anything 
else." 

"  Oh,  oh !  "  said  poor  Miss  Ravenel,  this  time  un 
able  to  be  silent.  "  But  couldn't  you  have  com 
plained  to  the  company  ?  " 

"  And  lose  my  situation  ?  The  company  can't 
afford  to  consider  the  girls'  private  lives.  Some  of 
the  very  worst  are  the  best  operators.  When  they 
work  on  a  man's  job,  they  must  be  judged  like  men 
are.  No  one  cares  what  a  man  does  out  of  office 
hours,  even  the  girls  don't." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Aylwin " 

"  Well,  I  mean  common  girls.  Most  of  us  can't 
be  ladies.  And  there's  no  pretending  to  be;  it  only 
makes  them  discontented."  Miss  Aylwin  closed  with 
a  sigh. 

"  But  you  are  a  lady,"  said  Miss  Ravenel. 

Miss  Aylwin  blushed  with  pleasure. 


XXXIX 

INJUNCTION  modified.     Settlement  of  the  Park- 
field  coal  strike.      At  a  hearing  to-day  before 
Judge  Edsall  who  granted  the  injunction  last  week 
against  the  striking  miners  at  Parkfield,  that  part 
of  his  decree  which  enjoined  the  miners  from  leaving 

339 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

their  employment  pending  the  present  contract  or 
from  assembling  together  or  marching  with  flags 
upon  highways  was  amended  by  agreement  of  counsel, 
Hugh  Michael  representing  the  miners  and  Charles 
A.  Pinckney,  of  New  York,  the  operating  company. 
A  prompt  settlement  of  the  strike  is  now  confidently 
anticipated."  To  Miss  Ravenel,  opening  her  Sun 
upon  the  train  as  she  returned  the  next  day,  this 
dispatch  appeared  most  prominent ;  and  turning  to 
the  inside  pages  she  found  an  editorial  article  upon 
the  "  novel  doctrine  thus  promulgated." 

How  quickly  the  "  world  of  men  "  for  him !  She 
envied,  one  moment,  a  man's  potentiality  of  action ; 
subconsciously,  the  dispatch  relieved  her.  She  had 
been  resolutely  holding  certain  thoughts  at  arm's 
length.  Yet  she  suspected — for  this  our  heroine  was 
a  woman — why  he  had  not  come  back  to  New  York, 
why  he  had  preferred  the  ruder  fight  in  the  moun 
tains.  After  all,  it  might  yet  be  well,  and  she  had 
but  gained  a  friend.  The  superfluous  she  had  sud 
denly  seen  in  his  face  that  day  would  naturally  sub 
side,  transmute  itself  to  quieter  thoughts.  Meantime 
it  was  a  great  thing  to  fight.  And  for  herself — that 
summer — the  world  of  dreams. 

But  Mary  Ravenel  did  not  dream  that,  from  that 
time  on,  he  fought  but  as  Palomides — "  crying  her 
name."  Yet  may  never  words  express  what  passes 

340 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  the  pure  heart  of  a  young  girl ;  it  is  a  mystery  for 
herself — let  it  then  remain  a  mystery  to  us  who  are 
outside. 

Her  grandmother  made  no  comment  on  their 
recent  guest ;  and  after  all  she  found  work  ready  to 
hand.  Kollner,  the  flaxen-curled  young  foreman  of 
the  watch  factory,  came  to  her  in  some  trouble.  The 
"  trust  " — for  so  he  practically  called  that  myste 
rious  entity  whose  very  existence  was  always  strenu 
ously  denied — had  again  intimated  that  the  watch 
cases,  which  it  was  their  custom  to  buy  ready  made, 
might  in  future  be  nonprocurable  by  independent 
manufacturers.  Now,  to  have  made  their  own  cases 
would  have  almost  absorbed  the  profit  they  could 
now  make  on  the  delicate  hand-made  works.  He  had 
enough  cases  on  hand,  Kollner  told  her,  to  finish  the 
season ;  but  if  he  could  get  no  more?  He  went  to  her 
because  it  was  his  habit,  like  everyone  else's  in  the 
neighborhood,  to  go  to  her ;  afterwards,  perhaps,  if 
she  so  advised,  they  went  to  a  lawyer. 

Mary  promised  to  see  what  she  could  do ;  and 
then  they  had  a  little  talk  about  other  matters.  She 
had  arranged,  later,  to  visit  the  Havilands,  but  the 
rest  of  the  summer  she  meant  to  devote  to  an  experi 
ment  to  which  her  grandmother  had  been  induced, 
only  with  the  greatest  difficulty,  to  consent.  This 
was,  not  only  to  invite  a  more  or  less  permanent 

341 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

house  party  from  among  the  younger  working 
women  she  knew  in  New  York,  but  to  invite  one  or 
two  guests  of  a  different  class,  possibly  even  gen 
tlemen,  to  meet  them.  In  her  own  mind  the  expense 
had  been  the  sole  objection,  but  she  found  that  this 
did  not  even  occur  to  her  grandmother — what  indeed 
has  a  marquise  to  do  with  dollars  and  cents? — and 
after  all  farm  supplies  were  the  one  thing  that  cost 
them  nothing.  And  the  extra  household  work  would 
be  done  by  the  girls  themselves.  No  ;  it  was  the  social 
objection  that  figured  largely  in  Mrs  Warfield's 
mind.  "  And  suppose,"  she  added  in  climax,  "  your 
gentlemen  should  fall  in  love  with  your  young 
women?  Or  it  might  be  the  other  way  about — in 
that  class  you  never  can  tell." 

"  Well,  I  only  meant  the  Havilands — they  have 
promised  to  come  down  for  a  week  in  September, 
just  before  the  vacation  ends,  and  I  go  back  with 
them — and  young  Kollner,  the  foreman — it  might 
be  the  best  thing  for  him,  for  I'm  sure  he'll  make 
trouble  if  he  marries  any  girl  in  the  factory — and 
perhaps  Mr  Wiston.  He  won't  fall  in  love  with  any 
body,"  Miss  Ravenel  ended,  a  little  sadly. 

"  How  do  you  know?  "  said  the  old  lady,  speak 
ing  and  looking  a  little  sharply.  "  In  my  days  we  did 
not  play  with  a  man."  But  the  girl  only  looked  se 
rious  and  kept  her  own  counsel.  For  poor  Freddy 

342 


n  AY  EX  El. 


V 


'•  •  In  my  days  we  did  not  play  with  a  man.'  " 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  past  playing  with  or  praying  for — only  humbly 
beatitudinous  when  in  her  presence — she  had  thor 
oughly  tried  absence,  and  now  was  treating  him 
homeopathically.  And  why  not,  after  all,  lift  the 
poor  fellow  to  the  seventh  heaven  when  it  did  no 
harm?  If  he  saw  much  of  her,  naturally  and  simply, 
she  might  dispel  some  of  the  ridiculous  glamour  with 
which  he  surrounded  her.  (But  why  did  it  never,  in 
later  times,  occur  to  her  to  treat  Austin  Pinckney  in 
this  fashion?)  And  as  for  the  girls,  why,  none  of 
them  would  fall  in  love  with  Freddy  Wiston.  When 
she  had  playfully  warned  him  not  to  do  so  himself, 
the  vivacious  millionaire  had  had  one  of  the  few  mo 
ments  in  which  history  could  record  his  eloquent 
silence,  but  he  had  looked  at  her,  with  a  dog's  eye, 
which  made  her  sorry;  moreover,  she  felt  grateful 
to  him  for  controlling,  in  so  apposite  a  juncture,  his 
thirty-eighth  proposal. 

But  Freddy,  who  had  entered  with  enthusiasm 
into  the  scheme,  regarded  himself  upon  honor  not 
to  propose  while  being,  or  going  to  be,  her  guest, 
and  proffered  himself,  moreover,  as  willing  to  meet, 
or  even  escort  down,  Miss  Aylwin,  whose  portrait 
Miss  Ravenel,  in  most  glowing  colors,  had  painted, 
to  an  ear  (or  should  it  be  eye?)  most  dulled  and  in 
attentive.  This  much  had  been  arranged  before  she 
left  New  York ;  only  that  Miss  Aylwin,  strangely 

343 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

shy,  with  difficulty  prevailed  upon  to  come,  had  per 
sistently  refused  any  escort. 

So  now — for  Freddy  could  hardly  be  the  only 
gentleman — she  was  asking  Kollner,  and  explaining 
to  him,  tactfully  as  she  always  could,  why  he  was  to 
come  and  who  the  ladies  were  that  he  might  meet, 
and  otherwise  gracefully  handling  his  social  diffidence ; 
he  was  not,  of  course,  to  stay  in  the  house,  being  a 
neighbor,  but  to  come  to  dinner  and  join  in  their 
walks.  And  the  scarlet  flush  that  colored  the  blond 
skin  to  the  very  root  of  his  yellow  hair  indicated  how 
gratefully  he  welcomed  the  invitation. — What  was 
there  in  the  young  woman's  personality  that  made 
so  many  a  man  flush  with  pleasure  if  she  merely  spoke 
to  him?  She  was  not  considered  a  beauty  in  the  great 
world — poor  Austin,  in  the  years  to  come,  would 
notice,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  joy  and  anger,  how 
little  such  men — "  men  of  the  world  "  — noticed  her. 
—Then,  for  second,  she  had  secured  a  famous  young 
clergyman  ;  fascinated  with  the  scheme,  he  had  begged 
to  spend  part  of  his  vacation  as  one  of  her  guests. 
His  dream  was  to  mingle,  to  bring  to  a  mutual  com 
prehension,  different  social  classes.  He  made,  laugh 
ingly,  but  one  condition :  he  wished  to  learn  how 
young  women  of  that  grade  of  society  first  met  their 
followers,  and  begged,  therefore,  that  his  condition 
as  a  married  man  be  withheld  from  them ! — and  Miss 

344 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Ravenel,  also  laughingly,  though  calling  it  most  im 
moral,  had  assented.  She  told  her  grandmother,  ex 
plaining,  too,  that  they  might  be  told,  or  find  it  out 
naturally,  after  a  few  days  or  at  the  proper  time; 
but  that  lady  seemed  to  think  that  in  such  a  general 
mix  up  of  impossible  relations  a  travesti  more  or  less 
did  not  matter.  Also  she  remembered,  with  a  twinkle 
of  her  bright  young  eyes,  that  too  many  cooks  would 
spoil  the  broth,  and  that,  to  her  taste,  the  more  red 
pepper  the  better. 

But  Miss  Ravenel  did  not  know  what  to  do  about 
the  watch  business.  She  would  write  to  Pinckney,  as  a 
lawyer,  she  said  to  herself;  but  somehow  she  didn't. 
She  ended  by  writing  to  John  Haviland.  She  gave  him 
a  long  exposition  of  the  situation ;  its  history,  and 
the  conditions  which  had  led  to  it.  "  They,"  she  said 
(she  was  necessarily  vague  in  her  pronouns),  "  they 
have  offered  for  the  stock  of  the  little  company  a 
price  which  hardly  more  than  represents  the  present 
value  of  the  plant  without  good  will  " — where  does 
she  get  her  grasp  of  business,  thought  John — "  and, 
moreover,  would  reduce  their  wives  to  idleness.  Most 
of  them  cannot  do  machinery  work  if  they  would, 
and  the  girls  must  not  leave  Laurel  Run.  They  live 
at  home,  and  work  in  pleasant  places ;  in  short,  the 
whole  '  outfit '  (as  Freddy  Wiston  would  say)  is  just 
such  as  we  all  hope  will  be  typical  in  the  future.  Yet 
23  345 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

if  they  can't  buy  watch  cases  they  must  go  out  of 
business.  I  suppose  there  is  no  law  compelling  the 
Trust  to  sell  to  them.  Nor,  I  suppose,  to  make  the 
same  price  to  them  that  they  do  to  others.  Most  of 
the  retailers  already  refuse  to  sell  our  watches,  so 
they  can  hurt  us  no  more  there;  our  clientele,  for 
our  limited  output,  is  assured  without  new  markets. 
They  have  had  the  railroad  raise  its  freight  rates  ;  but 
the  goods  are  so  concentrated  in  value  and  the  city 
of  Baltimore  so  near  that  we  can  cart  them  if  neces 
sary  ;  Philadelphia,  too,  is  not  far  off ;  while  the  best 
sale  of  all  is  to  old  Southern  families  coming  to  Wash 
ington  who  buy  them  at  our  office  there  as  their 
fathers  did  before  them.  But  we  must  have  the 
cases.  I  have  only  thought  that  Messrs  Stair  & 
Lorimer,  who  make  only  cheaper  watches  and  sell 
the  Laurel  Run  side  by  side  with  them,  might  be  in 
terested  enough  in  us  to  consent  to  buy  our  cases  in 
their  name.  It  is  a  case  of  industrial  warfare  in 
which  all  is  fair." 

To  which  John  Haviland  replied,  inclosing  a  letter 
from  the  Miners'  Bank  to  Messrs  Stair  &  Lorimer 
"  which  might  be  of  some  help,"  and  only  saying  that 
"  upon  consideration  of  her  conclusion,  as  expressed 
in  her  last  sentence,  he  really  did  not  see  why  she 
needed  any  further  advice  upon  the  subject." 

So  Austin  was  spared  his  letter.  But  reading, 
346 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  few  weeks  later,  in  the  Times  (how  do  such  things 
get  into  the  paper?)  that  "  Miss  Ravenel  was  enter 
taining,  at  Ravenel  in  Maryland,  a  house  party  con 
sisting  of  the  Rev.  Bernard  Rhodes,  David  Radnor, 
Frederic  Wiston,  and  Miss  Aylwin  of  New  York  " — 
his  heart  closed  in  upon  itself. 

How  could  he  know  that  Freddy  was  still  only 
at  his  thirty-seventh  proposal?  Or  that  Miss  Aylwin 
— quiet  Miss  Aylwin — had  herself  sent  the  item  to 
the  Times? 

He  was  very  near  to  tears  again,  that  night,  as 
he  said  his  prayers  for  her  happiness. 


XL 


THE  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness.  As 
Austin  had  lain  there,  that  old  day  at  Ra 
venel,  his  face  close  to  the  little  gray  and  red  mosses, 
arguing  it  away  with  his  intellect,  this  was  all  he 
knew :  all  except  that  "  the  wood  spurge  has  little 
stems  of  three."  He  never  forgot  the  shape  and 
habit  of  that  crisp,  warm  moss ;  old  it  was,  older 
than  his  sorrow ;  it  would  be  there  still  when  his  love 
was  gone.  No :  nothing  as  this  was  eternal ;  no 
change  in  the  mere  physical  world  so  great.  The 
wood  sorrel  might  leaf,  flower,  wither,  leaf  again ; 

347 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  old  gray  moss  might  take  its  centuries  to  grow 
upon  the  living  stone,  and  these  would  be  but  mo 
ments  to  his  living  soul.  "  In  the  beginning  was  the 
Word —  This  was  his  soul's  word — and  he  had  not 
waited  for  it. 

He  had  been  startled  at  his  own  first  flood  of 
tears ;  he  had  looked  at  the  wet  moss  as  a  stag, 
sunken  to  his  knees,  might  look  upon  the  reddening 
grass ;  now  his  face  was  dry,  and  he  knew  that  never 
so  would  it  be  wet  again.  Even  in  his  mind  he  soon 
gave  up  the  effort  at  denial,  the  effort  at  hope,  the 
effort  of  clear  vision  of  any  future.  The  world  had 
been  so  willed  for  him,  that  was  all.  Not  heaven  it 
self  on  earth  could  work  his  cure.  The  heart  know- 
eth  its  own  bitterness. 

Then  his  clinched  hands  crisped  until  they  tore 
his  nails  upon  the  time-worn  rock.  The  coming 
thought  sent  its  messenger  of  horror ;  the  heart 
closed  cold  upon  itself  before  the  head  had  spelled 
the  word.  O  God,  if  he  had  waited !  Had  a  door 
but  opened  the  other  way,  had  a  door  before  him 
but  been  closed.  He  might  have  met  her  any  day, 
at  the  Havilands',  at  Mr  Gresham's  office.  What 
angel  from  hell  had  guided  his  steps,  those  days, 
that  he  and  she  were  kept  apart !  It  might,  so  easily, 
have  been — why  had  he  not  waited !  He  had  not 
truly  known  that  love  could  be.  Yet,  for  all  eter- 

348 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

nity,  her  soul  had  been ;  "  well  enough  "  he  knew  it ; 
well  enough,  and  now  his  own  was  no  other  thing 
than  hers.  And  too  late,  too  late  by  all  the  laws  of 
conscience  and  this  world. 

This,  then,  was  love.  And  he  had  not  believed. 
That  was  the  unpardonable  sin,  he  had  not  believed. 
He  had  taken  the  song  and  story  of  the  world — he 
had  taken  both  the  passion  of  Tristan  and  the  life 
love  of  the  grim  Florentine — he  had  taken  the  his 
tories  of  the  actions  of  all  noble  men — for  song  and 
story.  He  had  credited  the  libertines.  Impliedly, 
he,  who  was  different,  had  followed  the  average  mul 
titude,  the  horrible  Puritan  view  that  sees  nothing 
in  love  but  the  sin,  naught  in  the  woman  but  sex — 
das  erste  beste. 

Austin  never  deceived  himself.  After  its  one 
first  effort  at  pretense,  his  mind  saw  the  futility  of 
it.  This  was  love,  and  it  was  the  end.  There  should 
be  no  shirking.  And  he  repeated  the  phrase  aloud, 
many,  many  times — Mary  Ravenel,  Mary  Ravenel, 
Mary  Ravenel — and  then  again,  with  a  hush,  /  love 
you\  the  Word  eternal,  which  he  who  uttering  pro 
fanes  if  he  come  not  to  the  altar  with  clean  heart. 
And  uttering  this  word  about  her,  had  it  been  even 
to  her,  Austin  could  feel  no  sense  of  sin.  Yet  he 
did  not  blind  himself.  He  loved  her  as  a  saint  may 
set  his  face  toward  a  distant  shrine  that  he  shall 

349 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

never  see;  as  a  priest  may  kneel  before  his  secret 
ikon;  and  yet  he  knew  he  also  loved  her  as  a  man  a 
woman.  And  he  could  not  feel  that  there  was  sin 
in  it. 

And  then,  for  very  shame,  he  buried  his  burning 
face  once  more  in  the  new  dry  moss.  The  sin  had 
been  before.  What  now  was  he  to  poor  Dorothy, 
or  she,  alas!  to  him?  Dorothy  had  not  destroyed 
his  happiness — she  had  only  shown  him  it  had  never 
been.  And  here  he  held  his  thoughts  by  the  throat. 

One  wonders  if  the  Puritans,  if  the  common  citi 
zens  are  right — or  are  they  conscious  hypocrites? 
Dorothy  and  Austin  might  have  parted — the  day 
after  their  marriage — and  in  a  few  days  forgotten 
each  other.  It  was  in  the  succeeding  week  that  had 
come  their  real  courtship,  but  even  then  the  relation 
might  have  ended,  like  Rosaline's  to  Romeo.  In  a 
year,  Dorothy  was  no  different  girl  than  she  had 
been  the  day  she  wrote  her  fatal  letter.  What  irrep 
arable — except  to  the  Mohammedan,  the  libertine 
— what  irreparable  had  happened?  Their  marriage 
had  been,  alas !  but  a  thing  of  the  senses — the  Puri 
tans  say  all  marriages  are  so,  and  do  their  best  to 
make  it  so ;  and  are  "  shocked  "  when  a  Tolstoi  points 
out  their  own  hypocrisy.  This,  they  say,  is  the  one 
determining  thing,  as  they  set  forth  the  wedding 
feast:  the  girl  has  been  educated  by  suggestive  si- 

350 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

lences,  the  boy  told  by  prurient  suggestion,  the  inci 
dent,  as  it  were,  been  dramatized  by  the  British 
Matron  so  ordering  life — and  they  are  told  that 
this  is  all.  But  it  is  the  birth  of  a  child  that  makes 
of  a  girl  a  woman,  the  birth  of  love  that  makes  of  a 
boy  a  man ;  nor  is  it  a  sin  to  love — who  loves  truly. 
It  is  the  Puritan  who  would  make  naught  of  love. 
It  is  our  conventioners  who  say :  There  is  no  such 
love :  it  is  the  formula  only  that  counts ;  after  that 
all  is  the  same. 

A  philosopher  may  carry  his  thoughts  a  little 
farther  than  a  gentleman.  Austin  Pinckney  only 
thought — that  somehow  his  life  had  ended  before 
it  had  begun.  Then  he  got  as  far  as  the  remorse 
—the  terrible,  unrepentant  remorse — that  he  had 
shown  his  love  to  her.  What  dreams  he  might  have 
had  of  far-off  worship,  or  even  of  companionship, 
perhaps,  in  work  or  sorrow  if  not  in  joy,  had  come 
to  wreck.  And  then  of  the  "  might  have  been  " 
but  that  way  madness  lay — and  then  of  the  shame 
of  his  past,  as  if  it  had  been  some  low  amour — if 
sin  it  was,  ihe  marriage  did  not  sanctify  it.  But  it 
was  not,  then,  sin ;  no  man  could  think  it  sin ;  and 
yet  by  it  his  life  was  ended ;  things  were  wrong.  He 
had  but  been  born  to-day,  and  he  was  born  in  chains. 

Had  she,  after  all,  seen  his  love?    She  was  angry, 
she  had  turned  her  face  away.     His  path  lay  dark 

351 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

before  him.  Now  only  one  thing  was  clear — he  must 
never  see  her.  He  must  never  see  her,  and  she  had 
gone  away  displeased.  She  could  not  understand; 
he  could  never  tell  her.  Nothing  remained.  Any 
man  will  have  a  thought  of  suicide  at  such  a  time; 
but  to  a  man  like  him  it  comes  as  a  triviality  to  be 
dismissed  with  a  scoff.  Wherein  would  it  profit  him 
to  lose  his  life?  He  was  enlisted  in  the  whole  of 
things — he  was  no  "  quitter."  If  there  was  anything 
in  him  immortal,  that  thing  would  not  be  altered  by 
his  death.  Moreover,  Miss  Ravenel  was  still  among 
the  souls  which  dwell  on  earth.  I  am  you,  I  am  you, 
he  kept  saying.  But  she  had  turned  her  face  from 
him.  There  was  no  hope.  God  himself  could  alter 
these  things  not.  God  himself  could  now  not  bring 
him  happiness.  God  himself  could  not  make  her  do 
ill,  nor  could  he  even  pray  that  she  might  think  of 
him  again. 

He  could  only,  as  Palomyd: 

"  Never  glad  with  sweetness  of  his  lady's  eyes — 
Unloved  ever,  still  must  love  the  same, 
And  riding  ever  through  a  lonely  world 
Against  the  danger  desperately  hurled, 
Crying  her  name." 

He  arose  and  went  down  to  the  house.    And  there, 
as  if  for  his  blasphemy,  there  came  some  surcease  of 

352 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  bitterness  that  filled  the  poor  man's  heart ;  the 
beginning  of  the  happiness  of  faith.  The  gentle, 
deep-eyed  old  lady  had  another  message  for  him ;  it 
was  the  telegram  Miss  Ravenel  had  sent  from  Balti 
more  about  her  father's  need,  and  with  it  a  word  for 
Austin.  "  Tell  him,"  she  had  written,  "  I  did  not 
know  that  I  should  not  see  him  to  say  good-by  when 
I  took  the  early  train." 

To  say  good-by !  What  did  it  mean  ?  At  all  events 
— oh,  thank  God !  she  had  meant  to  see  him  again. 
She  had  been  willing  to  see  him  again.  Had  the 
gentle  girl  seen  the  effect  of  her  word,  she  had  taken 
it  away  from  him,  perhaps ;  she  had  only  meant  to 
prevent  his  accentuating  the  cause  of  her  departure ; 
but  his  heart  sang  Nunc  dimittis.  Now  he  could  go 
in  peace.  Mr  Warfield  pressed  him  to  stay,  but  no, 
he,  too,  had  business  in  West  Virginia.  "  Perhaps 
he  would  come  again,  on  his  return?"  His  heart 
leaped  at  the  words !  But  no ;  he  might  not  come 
again.  Some  time,  then,  said  the  kindly  old  lady. 
Yes,  some  time. 

He  went  once  more  up  the  leafy  valley,  the  brook 
in  its  ferny  solitude  below.  Here  was  the  place  he 
had  first  looked  at  her,  the  dropping  water  still  glis 
tening  on  the  rock.  He  drank  the  picture  to  his 
heart,  for  he  should  never  see  it  again,  and  the  sweet 
dell  itself  was  but  the  frame  of  a  picture  carried 

353 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

henceforth  in  his  memory — a  dark-haired,  slender 
girl,  in  a  simple  gown — with  a  mist  in  her  eyes.  Her 
face  seemed  blurred  in  the  mist  of  his  own ;  her  face, 
alone,  was  never  more  clear ;  this,  though,  was  to  be 
the  blazon  of  his  shield  through  life. 

Then  he  went  in  peace.  And  with  the  motion  of 
the  train,  the  hurry  of  action,  the  telegraphing  and 
answering  of  telegrams,  the  decision  not  to  return 
upon  her  footsteps  as  it  were,  the  seeing  where  lay 
his  work,  in  West  Virginia;  finally,  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening,  the  quiet  train,  thundering  its  mighty 
way  along  the  Alleghenies — the  rest  of  motion  and 
the  turmoil  of  his  loneliness — his  peace  gave  way  to 
joy.  His  soul  repelled  remorse  or  doubt,  refused  to 
plan,  refused  to  think,  denied  to  heaven  the  wrong. 

He  saw  the  joy  of  all  the  days  behind  him — the 
unconscious  joy  of  the  many  weeks  preceding — and 
as  the  lonely  stars  sing  in  their  spheres,  each  travel 
ing  alone  on  its  appointed  way,  he  sang  within  his 
lonely  heart  and  worshiped  God. 


XLI 

I   DEMAND  the  cancellation  of  this  injunction," 
thundered  Pinckney.     The  weak  judge  cowered 
upon  his  bench ;  he  had  been  placed  there  by  the  rail- 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

road  senator,  and  wanted  to  "  hold  his  job  "  ;  he  knew 
no  law,  but  well  he  knew  his  job.  The  quaint  old- 
fashioned  Virginia-Doric  court  room  was  crowded 
with  anxious  miners ;  the  plaster  cast  of  female  Jus 
tice,  holding  the  scales,  had  bared  her  breast,  but  lost 
one  blinded  eye ;  the  local  counsel  for  the  railroad 
and  the  miners,  dressed  all  alike  in  rusty  frock  coats 
and  black  string  ties,  spat  at  the  spittoons  impa 
tiently  ;  the  terrorized  Hungarian  witness,  only 
partly  reassured,  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  dirty 
Bible  he  had  kissed ;  outside  the  rail  a  pack  of  flannel- 
shirted  miners  looked  over  at  their  unexpected  deliv 
erer  with  wide-open  eyes.  For  Austin  Pinckney  had 
"  blood  in  his  neck  " ;  he  knew  the  time  to  bluster,  the 
place  to  knock  down  and  drag  out.  So  he  pointed 
his  white  forefinger  at  the  judge  and  dropped  the 
slow  words  one  by  one,  hissing  like  a  blacksmith's 
iron  in  its  trough  of  water: 

"  Your  honor  should  know,  and  if  it  does  not  I 
will  inform  it  (this  was  the  tone  that  Pinckney 
dared  to  take),  that  the  writ  of  injunction  was  the 
highest  writ  in  the  king's  prerogative."  His  honor 
looked  at  the  great  New  York  lawyer,  puzzled;  he 
knew  that  he  represented  the  famous  Gresham  firm; 
he  knew  that  he  came  from  Wall  Street ;  and  here  he 
was  pleading  against  "  the  business  interests  of  the 
country."  Surely,  it  was  those  "  business  interests  " 

355 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

that  had  made  him  what  he  was ;  made  him  as  they 
had  made  the  judge  himself;  his  honor  could  not 
understand  it. 

"  And  though  in  its  ignorance  your  Legislature 
has  chosen  to  mix  up  law  and  equity,  and  every  petty 
magistrate  now  wields  this  mighty  power  (his  honor 
blinked  rapidly,  having  visions  of  committing  Pinck- 
ney  for  contempt,  but  this  he  did  not  dare),  a  Fed 
eral  judge  is  still  the  successor  of  the  king's  chan 
cellor — keeper  of  the  conscience  of  his  sovereign — 
and  your  sovereign  is  the  American  people.  The 
conscience  of  America  will  not  enslave.  And  your 
honors  wield  this  mighty  sovereign  power  to  prevent 
irreparable  wrong,  not  to  hamper  freemen's  rights. 
Do  you  not  know  how  the  common  law  tells  us  that 
the  contract  of  labor  alone  of  all  contracts  may  not 
be  compelled  of  enforcement,  because  any  compulsion 
to  labor  is  slavery  ?  That  when  you  forbid  these  de 
fendants  to  walk  upon  the  earth,  to  consult,  to  meet 
together,  you  are  playing  the  Stuart's  game — and 
when  you  enjoin  other  men  who  have  never  heard  of 
you,  you  or  your  petty  court,  from  doing  anything 
that  you  may  choose  to  call  interference,  and  commit 
them  to  jail  without  a  trial,  you  are  using  his  Star- 
Chamber  tools  ?  Will  you  en j  oin  the  whole  country 
to  keep  even  the  Ten  Commandments?  to  do  your 
will?  and  then  condemn  any  citizen  of  it  who  in  your 

356 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

judgment  has  not  done  so — without  a  trial,  or  no 
tice,  or  defense — to  punishment  and  loss  of  liberty? 

"  What  are  we  here  for  ?  What  Federal  question 
is  here  involved?  These  miners  are  West  Virginia 
citizens ;  are  not  her  laws  sufficient  to  keep  them  in 
order?  If  not,  are  we  a  police  court?  No;  it  is 
because  the  profits  of  that  sacred  being,  a  New  Jersey 
corporation,  are  here  in  jeopardy,  that  you  have 
moved."  He  turned  to  the  company  counsel.  "  You 
have  had  a  dispute  with  your  help — I  care  not  which 
is  right — but  to  get  your  way  you  invoke  the  fiction 
of  the  corporation  and  pretend  it  dwells  in  Hoboken, 
when  all  its  real  life  is  here,  that  you  may  drag  into 
your  sordid  local  quarrel  the  mighty  power  of  the 
United  States  and  end  the  case  in  bloodshed  and  cold 
steel !  " 

Austin's  success — or  apparent  success — in  their 
old  mill  case  had  caused  Gresham  to  write  to  him  at 
length  about  this  coal-mining  affair ;  and  he,  anxious 
to  get  somewhere,  anywhere,  anxious  to  be  fighting 
something,  had  promptly  telegraphed  that  he  would 
go  to  the  scene  at  once  and  only  asked  full  powers. 
And  arriving  there  in  the  early  morning  he  had  gone, 
not  to  the  office  of  their  local  attorney,  not  to  the 
superintendent  of  the  mine,  but  to  the  lodge  rooms 
of  the  local  Federation  of  Labor.  It  was  early  morn 
ing  and  the  men  were  all  sober ;  he  found  them, 

357 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

indeed,  plotting  the  demonstration  for  the  day. 
Frankly,  he  stated  who  he  was ;  but  then  he  pre 
sented  his  letters  of  introduction — his  "  character  " 
as  it  were — letters  from  labor  unions  in  Nauchester, 
in  Boston,  in  New  York — certifying  that  he  was 
"  fair."  And  he  told  them  he  had  come  to  them  first, 
wishing  to  hear  their  side;  that  he  was  not  come  as 
a  lawyer ;  that,  indeed,  he  would  take  no  steps  in  court 
without  their  knowledge.  This  was  a  thing  to  be  set 
tled  first  as  between  man  and  man,  not  with  soldiers 
or  with  Pinkerton  men. 

It  took  him  all  that  day  to  gain  their  confidence, 
even  to  the  extent  that  they  would  promise  to  meet 
him,  with  the  real  leaders,  in  the  evening.  For,  as 
the  day  wore  on,  he  heard  a  good  deal  of  "  old  man 
Zappi."  He  soon  suspected  that  the  officers  of  the 
local  union  were  not,  after  all,  "  the  real  thing." 
Zappi,  it  appeared,  was  a  sort  of  independent  pros 
pector  ;  he  had  lived  there  many  years  amid  the 
mountains,  making  experiments  with  their  iron  ore; 
it  is  leadership  of  men,  not  official  rank,  that  counts 
in  a  partisan  war;  what  Zappi  said,  he  was  told, 
"  went." 

Zappi  turned  out  to  be  a  vast  black-bearded 
Italian,  six  feet  and  a  half  high,  who  had  spent  the 
best  years  of  his  youth  in  an  Austrian  prison.  With 
him  he  visited  the  miners'  homes — rude  unpainted 

358 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

pinewood  tenements,  where  four  families  herded  to 
gether  with  a  common  sink,  paying  eight  dollars  a 
month  rent  each  to  the  company — contrary  to  the 
statutes  of  West  Virginia.  With  him  he  visited  the 
"  company  "  store,  where  the  necessaries  of  life  and 
some  of  the  poisons  were  sold  to  the  miners  and  their 
families,  at  high  prices  and  on  monthly  credits — also 
against  the  law.  Indeed,  the  miners  were  paid,  not 
in  cash,  but  in  coupons,  redeemable  indeed  at  the 
company  store,  but  only  for  the  balance  after  the 
bearer's  account  was  liquidated ;  and  there  was  rarely 
any  balance.  Very  few  of  the  miners  ever  saw  the 
color  of  the  company's  money ;  on  the  contrary  they 
were  heavily  in  debt  to  it,  and  all  under  the  impres 
sion,  carefully  fostered  by  the  agent,  that  they  could 
not  leave  there  if  they  would  until  the  debt  was  paid. 
With  Zappi  he  finally  went  to  some  of  the  shafts  of 
the  mine  itself.  Here  the  work  was  suspended ;  only 
the  pumps,  which  had  so  far  been  respected  by  the 
strikers,  were  moving  to  keep  the  mine  free  of  water. 
A  few  score  men — pickets,  Austin  fancied — were 
lazily  smoking  around  the  approaches  to  each  shaft ; 
a  score  or  two  of  poorly  clad  women  and  girls  were 
reviling  a  dozen  or  so  well-dressed  men,  armed  with 
Winchesters  and  revolvers,  on  guard  behind  the  fence. 
"  Do  the  women  work  in  the  mine?  "  asked  Aus 
tin.  "  Surely  that  is  against  the  law?  " 

359 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  It  is,"  said  Zappi.  "  So  they  only  bring  the 
men  their  dinners.  Perhaps  sometimes  they  bear  a 
hand  in  pulling  out  a  car  or  picking — that  is  an 
affair  between  them  and  husbands  or  fathers.  Or 
else  they  may  be  clerks  in  the  shed.  Don't  they  look 
it?  "  said  the  big  man  with  a  laugh. 

"  No  girls  can  be  employed  at  all  under  fourteen 
in  any  mine  in  West  Virginia,"  said  Austin. 

"  But  a  woman  attains  majority  upon  her  mar 
riage.  Our  Italian  girls  are  marriageable  very 
young." 

"  The  men  inside,  I  suppose,  are  Federal  marshals 
or  deputies?  " 

Zappi  nodded.  "  The  company  swore  in  all  they 
could — at  three  dollars  a  day.  It  is  better  pay  than 
they  can  get  loafing  around  the  barrooms  at  Charles 
ton.  Better  pay  and  more  fun.  They  killed  a  striker 
only  last  night.  They  were  in  his  house.  He  had 
a  pretty  wife,  and  he  had  quarreled  with  her.  They 
did  not  go  away  after  he  was  killed,"  said  Zappi 
grimly. 

"  But  surely,  if  the  man  is  known — 

"  He  has  only  to  step  across  the  main  street  to 
be  in  Kentucky.  The  national  Government  has  power 
over  the  strikers,  it  seems,  but  it  has  no  power  over 
those  who  kill  the  strikers." 

"  Surely,  if  he  were  a  Federal  marshal — no,  I  see," 
360 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

mused  Austin.  "  A  murder  by  a  marshal  would  in 
volve  no  Federal  question." 

"  I  do  not  profess  to  understand  your  Constitu 
tion — we  used  to  think  we  wanted  one  in  Lombardy. 
However,  the  man  had  a  brother  or  two,"  added  Zappi 
placidly.  "  He  will  be  stabbed  in  a  day  or  two,  that 
marshal.  And  then  they  will  send  up  Pinkerton  men. 
Well,  they  are  better  behaved — the  Pinkerton  men." 

It  was  very  different  from  the  strike  in  Nauches- 
ter.  These  people  were  really  starving.  Zappi  spoke 
an  English  that  was  both  cultivated  and  idiomatic. 
"  You  cannot  expect  the  starving  men  to  be  too  lady 
like,"  said  he.  "  Particularly,  the  women." 

Pinckney  determined  that  the  strike  should  end. 
This  time,  the  cause  was  an  avowed  one.  There  was 
no  "  screen  law  "  in  West  Virginia — the  one  that  had 
passed  had  been  declared  unconstitutional  by  her 
Supreme  Court — so  the  company  would  weigh  each 
miner's  output  on  its  own  scales,  and  only  after  it 
had  been  "  screened  "  and  the  rock  or  refuse  and 
dust  rejected.  As  a  consequence,  though  each  man 
was  permitted  only  to  mine  the  seam  as  it  came,  he 
would  often  find  that  a  full  day's  work  had  brought 
but  half  day's  pay.  But,  under  the  injunction,  the 
miners  had  no  power  of  concerted  resistance;  other 
men,  Hungarians,  were  being  rapidly  imported;  the 
older  Italians,  who  had  known  but  that  one  home  in 
24  361 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

America,  were  to  be  turned  out  and  rendered  home 
less  ;  and  they  were  forbidden  to  warn  them,  or  even 
to  persuade.  The  head  men,  moreover — superinten 
dents,  foremen — who  had  ignored  a  monthly  con 
tract,  were  in  danger,  under  the  wording  of  the  in 
junction,  of  arrest  for  breaking  it. 

Persuaded  at  last  of  his  good  faith,  Zappi  and 
the  two  officials  agreed  to  go  with  Austin  to  Wheel 
ing  where  lived  the  Federal  judge.  Still  suspicious 
of  his  entertainment,  it  required  Zappi's  intelligent 
assistance  to  prevail  on  them  to  dine  with  Austin  at 
the  leading  hotel,  where,  to  Austin's  amusement,  these 
sons  of  Anak  made,  from  the  pretentious  catalogue 
of  the  hotel  bill  of  fare,  a  dinner  consisting  of  a 
plate  of  soup  and  three  plates  of  diversified  ice  cream. 
They  did  not  dare  accept  his  hospitality  overnight, 
and  separated  after  midnight  with  a  promise  to  meet 
him  in  the  court  room  that  morning. 

It  was  easy  to  persuade  the  local  attorney  that 
he  had  gone  too  far ;  it  was  less  easy  to  persuade  their 
superintendent  that  the  picture  cards  were  not  all  in 
his  own  hand.  Whereupon  Austin  told  him  openly 
that  he  was  there  to  settle  that  strike ;  and  that  if, 
to  do  that,  it  was  necessary  to  appear  for  the  miners, 
he  would  appear  for  the  miners  and  move  to  vacate 
the  injunction  in  the  morning.  Meantime  Zappi,  he 
told  him  (Zappi,  from  his  birth  near  Fiume,  knew 

362 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Hungarian),  had  gone  back  to  the  mining  camp  to 
organize  a  procession,  with  a  few  transparencies — 
written  in  Hungarian — in  case  the  injunction  should 
be  modified.  So  the  judge  had  been  compelled  to  open 
his  court — a  court  of  equity,  the  reader  knows,  is 
never  closed — and  many  miners,  getting  wind  of  it, 
had  come  to  town. 

Austin  had  paused,  after  the  words  we  have 
quoted,  and  the  judge  fidgeted  upon  his  bench  im 
patiently.  "  What  then  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want,"  said  Austin,  "  that  part  of  your  in 
junction  which  forbids  American  citizens  from  walk 
ing  on  the  highways,  which  denies  freemen  the  right 
to  leave  their  labor  when  they  choose,  vacated.  And, 
since  we  are  enjoining  against  criminal  offenses, 
I  want  this  New  Jersey  plaintiff  enjoined  from 
breaking  the  laws  of  West  Virginia,  in  that  it 
compels  the  defendants  to  trade  at  the  company 
store  and  works  young  girls  and  women  about  the 
mines." 

Pinckney  saw  the  counsel  for  the  mine  and  rail 
road  put  their  heads  together. 

"  I  want  the  railway  required  to  give  Ferdinando 
Zappi  and  other  independent  miners  the  same  rates 
it  gives  the  plaintiff." 

The  railroad  counsel  spoke  hastily  to  the  judge; 
and  his  honor  interrupted.  "  I  think  Mr  Pinck- 

363 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ney,  this  matter  can  be  best  settled  by  agree 
ment  of  counsel  in  the  lobby.  Mr  Clerk,  adjourn 
the  court." 

"  And  I  promise,"  said  Austin,  uplifting  his  hand, 
"  that  if  this  is  done,  all  disorder  shall  cease,  the 
miners  will  return  to  work  pending  the  arbitration 
of  the  mine  counsel,  Mr  Ferdinando  Zappi,  and  my 
self.  Am  I  right,  men?  "  He  turned  to  the  audience 
of  miners  and  repeated  it  in  Italian.  There  was  a 
roar  of  assent. 

Coming  to  the  judge's  private  room,  the  whole 
atmosphere  was  changed.  The  judge  himself  pro 
duced  cigars,  and  the  railroad  counsel,  from  a  capa 
cious  green  bag,  a  bottle  of  whisky.  "  Wouldn't  do 
to  find  such  a  thing  in  the  judge's  chambers- — but  this 
comes  in  the  original  package,  eh,  judge?  " 

"  Well,  really,"  said  his  honor,  looking  away, 
"  you  got  me  up  rather  early  in  the  morning,  boys. 
But,  brother  Pinckney — that  move  about  the  rates — 
in  the  first  place,  the  railroad  isn't  a  party ;  in  the 
second  place,  your  firm  is  counsel  for  it." 

"  Well,"  said  Austin,  "  Zappi  helped  me ;  one 
good  turn  deserves  another.  I  knew  it  was  all  among 
friends,"  he  added. 

Southerners  have  not  a  keen  sense  of  humor. 
"  The  railroad  doesn't  make  rates  any  different  to 
anybody.  It  owns  the  stock  of  the  Powhatan  coal 

364 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

mine,  or  so  I  am  informed.  But  it  buys  its  coal  at 
the  mine." 

"  The  mine  doesn't  pay  any  dividends,"  said  its 
counsel  significantly.  "  But  how  did  you  get  them  to 
agree  to  the  arbitration,  Mr  Pinckney?  " 

"  Zappi  and  I  have  got  it  all  arranged.  You  are 
to  pay  a  minimum  rate  per  carload  of  mineral.  And 
then  you  are  to  pay  an  extra  arbitrary  for  the  mer 
chantable  coal." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  that  we  can  do  any  better, 
particularly  if  his  honor  is  going  to  emasculate  our 
injunction." 

"  Oh,  brother  Pinckney  must  fix  up  his  injunc 
tion.  I'll  sign  it,"  said  the  judge. 

"  The  deputy  marshals  must  be  discharged.  I 
have  promised  that." 

"  We  shall  be  more  than  ready  to  stop  the  ex 
pense.  But  how  about  the  protection  to  property?  " 

"  I'll  answer  for  that,"  said  Austin.  "  I'm  more 
troubled  about  the  Hungarians — that  witness  was 
frightened  to  death." 

"  Oh,  the  Huns  and  dagoes  must  fight  it  out," 
said  the  court.  "  Anyhow,  I've  got  no  jurisdiction." 

But  Pinckney  went  back  and  passed  that  night 
at  the  mine,  in  the  house  of  his  friend  Zappi.  There 
was  no  disorder ;  only  a  procession  with  fireworks  and 
a  little  noise.  The  deputies  were  hustled  out  upon 

365 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  special  train.  And  it  was  some  years  before  an 
other  strike  took  place  in  the  Powhatan  coal  fields. 
Austin  was  so  tired  that  he  could  not  sleep  upon 
the  sleeping  car  going  home.  Pie  pulled  up  the 
shades  of  his  section  and  watched  the  great  moun 
tains  that  seemed,  with  the  train's  motion,  to  go 
slowly  by.  He  felt  that  he  had  been  right  in  what 
he  had  done.  He  only  wished  that  he  could  talk  it 
over  with  Mary  Ravenel.  But  alas !  he  might  never 
more  talk  any  question  over  with  Miss  Ravenel.  He 
had  forfeited  the  right.  Ah,  God,  if  he  had  known 
that  one  could  love  like  this ! 


XLII 

THE  house  at  Ravenel  had  been  somewhat  more 
full  than  Miss  Aylwin  had  reported  it.  Be 
sides  Bernard  Rhodes  and  Freddy  Wiston,  and  the 
Havilands  later,  and  she  herself  and  Miss  Brevier, 
there  had  been  two  or  three  other  New  York  women, 
to  say  nothing  of  Fritz  Kollner  and  a  series  of  young 
girls  from  the  watch  factory,  who  did  not  always 
sleep  at  the  house.  But  Miss  Aylwin  was  quite  with 
out  interest  in  these. 

At  first,  Miss  Ravenel  tried  asking  the  factory 
girls  in  twos.     But  this,  she  found,  did  not  answer; 

366 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

they  would  cling  to  each  other  like  kittens  in  a  basket. 
They  were  not  so  much  afraid  of  the  women  (for 
they  had  known  Miss  Ravenel),  but  very  much  afraid 
of  the  men,  and  insisted  upon  not  forgetting  that 
Kollner  was  their  overseer.  It  is  true,  they  were 
only  partly  Americans ;  all  had  some  Swiss  or  Ger 
man  in  their  descent.  On  the  other  hand,  the  New 
York  girls  were  quite  easy  with  Rhodes  and  Freddy 
Wiston,  but  very  much  afraid  of  Mrs  Warfield  and 
Miss  Brevier,  even  a  little  admiringly  awful  of  their 
hostess.  For  Miss  Ravenel  had  not,  purposely,  in 
vited  any  from  the  dozen  of  her  tried  lieutenants, 
young  women  she  had  worked  with  for  years,  whose 
characters  were  formed,  whose  standards  were  high 
— they  quite  understood  this,  and  were  not  jealous. 
"  We  have  you  in  the  winter,"  said  one  of  them  when 
she  explained  it  to  them — but  she  had  chosen  guests 
among  the  young  women  who  attracted  her  atten 
tion  in  stores,  in  dressmakers'  shops,  in  salaried 
positions.  They  were  not,  as  a  rule,  in  her  classes, 
nor  yet  interested  in  settlement  work ;  indeed,  Miss 
Ravenel  had  to  use  some  ingenuity  to  get  the  invita 
tions  naturally  to  them.  Far  from  being  the  "  most 
deserving,"  or  even  "  the  poor,"  they  were  girls, 
rather,  who  belonged  to  the  discontented  beauty  type, 
whose  career  might  yet  be  said  to  present  a  doubtful 
horoscope ;  they  were  all  earning  good  wages  and  all 

367 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

young.  For  the  young  hostess  frankly  recognized 
that  there  was  nothing,  or  nothing  of  this  sort,  to  be 
done  with  the  woman  who  had  turned  thirty,  or  even 
twenty-five.  And  the  one  hopeless  class,  she  had  dis 
covered,  either  to  work  upon  or  to  work  for  others, 
was,  sad  to  say,  the  idle  middle-class  young  woman 
who  lived  at  home  and  had  pocket  money ;  while  to 
the  poor,  of  course,  it  was  useless  to  present  this  side 
of  life. 

For  Mary  Ravenel's — possibly  Quixotic — object 
was  to  mingle  different  social  classes:  not  so  much 
that  they  might  copy,  as  that  they  might  compre 
hend,  each  other.  She  did  not  see,  in  a  democracy, 
why  there  should  not  be  a  common  meeting  ground. 
Even  in  the  Florentine  republic,  even  in  Provencal 
life — those  two  wonderful  civilizations  of  the  so- 
called  darker  ages,  the  one  material,  the  other  spirit 
ual,  from  either  of  which,  however,  all  that  we  have 
of  art  and  beauty,  of  culture  and  manners,  takes  its 
modern  birth--— even  Florence  and  Provence  were 
socially  democratic ;  classes  understood  one  another ; 
knights  and  burghers,  artists  and  artisans,  lived  and 
worked  together,  with  common  aims  and  common 
lofty  culture.  The  lord,  the  knight,  protected,  pat 
ronized  ;  while  the  gildsmith  or  the  artist  wrought 
his  masterpiece,  the  troubadour  his  song  or  poem. 
But  modern  New  York  classes,  if  they  touch  at  all, 

368 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

touch  in  their  lowest  tastes,  horse  racing  or  brutal 
izing  sport.  If  we  had  a  Michael  Angelo,  he  would 
be  unknown  of  the  many  ;  if  we  had  a  Dante,  he  would 
sing  for  "  a  privileged  class  "  — the  very  statement 
shows  its  ludicrous  impossibility.  There  can  be  no 
Dantes,  there  can  be  no  Michael  Angelos,  hardly  even 
a  Luca  della  Robbia  or  an  Arnaud  Daniel,  until  we 
come  together  again — and  Arnaud,  a  pretty  peasant 
boy,  be  bred  a  page  at  the  court  of  an  Ermengardc 
of  Narbonne  or  the  modern  Medici  have  served  his 
apprenticeship  at  some  fine  handicraft.  So  at  least 
dreamed  Miss  Ravenel;  John  Haviland  would  sigh  a 
little,  when  he  came  down  there  on  his  visit  and  listened 
to  these  views  of  hers — very  gently  though.  "  By 
all  means,  try.  But  I  fear  you  forget  the  modern 
proletariat.  They  had  no  proletariat  in  Florence 
and  Provence,  for  they  had  no  machinery.  All  handi 
craft  is  refining  labor,  may  in  any  age  become  an  art ; 
machinery  breeds  the  proletariat.  And  '  they  had 
no  class  corresponding  to  our  operatives,  our  sales 
women  ;  they  made  fine  things  for  themselves  with 
hand  and  eye,  not  cheap  cotton  for  the  Asiatic 
millions  on  a  power  loom,  nor  did  they  forge  crass 
iron  for  ugly  railings  or  Krupp  guns.  And  even 
the  selling  of  an  object,  into  the  making  of  which 
the  maker's  heart  and  soul  has  entered — the  more 
so  if  the  seller  was  the  very  maker — has  the  inspi- 

369 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ration  of  personal  relation,  human  appreciation. 
They  had  no  department  stores.  They  had  no 
hives  of  machinery,  turning  human  souls  into  ma 
chines,  turning  them  out  at  the  evening  whistle 
tired  with  the  very  tedium,  the  soullessness  of  it,  too 
jaded  for  all  but  the  red  pepper  of  pleasure,  liquor, 
sensuous  enjoyment,  gambling  on  the  races."  But 
Mary  would  not  let  herself  be  discouraged. 

"  If  there  are  other  people — and  we  know  there 
are — leading  higher  lives,  with  higher  pleasures, 
should  we  not  show  them  to  them?  No,  you  know 
I  don't  mean  Browning  readings  or  Kreutzer  sona 
tas,  or  even  pictures  or  books,  but  all  the  gentler  life, 
the  indefinable  totality  of  the  life  a  lady — any  lady 
— may  lead.  They  need  not  be  rich  for  that.  To 
be  sure,  they  must  get  into  the  country  now  and  then, 
and  care  more  for  books  and  music  and  less  for  mati 
nees,  and  they  must  see  gentlefolk  until  they  can 
notice  what  is  gentle." 

"  I  have  a  new  recruit  for  you,"  John  had  said. 
"  Mamie  Rastacq,  she  would  be  a  drawing  card." 

"Mrs   Rastacq!" 

"  She  has  fallen  in  love  with  you,  it  appears. 
Have  you  seen  her  much?  She  is  quite  in  earnest. 
And,  do  you  know,  I  am  by  no  means  sure  she  would 
do  it  badly.  She  is  a  lady — in  spite  of  all.  And  she 
is  full  of  intelligence  and  a  certain  charm.  She  quite 

370 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

pleaded  with  me  for  an  invitation — said  she  would 
wear  only  her  simplest  dresses." 

"  As  far  as  that  goes,  nothing  would  be  too 
good,"  said  Miss  Ravenel  indignantly.  "  Everyone 
is  to  come  as  he  naturally  is,  without  condescension 
of  any  kind." 

"  Mamie  is  quite  too  clever  to  condescend,  except 
that  she  may  stoop  to  conquer  some  of  your  young 
men.  Don't  you,  by  the  way,  find  the  young  men 
rather  difficult?" 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Ravenel,  "  I  haven't  asked  any 
young  men,  except,  of  course,  Fritz  Kollner.  You 
see,  I'm  working  among  girls,  and  I  don't  know  the 
corresponding  men.  I  did  try  one,  a  salesman  I  had 
known  in  a  Baltimore  store  for  many  years,  and  he 
was  quite  impossible.  I  mean,  he  posed.  Then  I 
asked  Miss  Aylwin  to  find  me  some,  and  she  said  she 
didn't  know  any.  After  all,  I'm  not  trying  to  ele 
vate  young  men  !  "  The  girl  laughed. 

"  The  development  should  be  even,"  said  John 
demurely.  "  But  about  poor  Mamie,"  persisted 
Haviland.  "  She  hasn't  got  to  the  stage  of  good 
works,  but  she's  not  without  faith.  In  you,  at  all 
events.  Poor  Grace  could  never  influence  her — per 
haps  she  was  so  near  her  age.  Where  did  you  know 
her?" 

"  And  I'm  ten  years  younger !  As  if  I  could  in- 
371 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

fluence  a  Mrs  Antoine  Rastacq !  "  said  Mary,  blush 
ing.  "  Oh,  I  have  met  her  several  times — now  I 
remember,  she  did  say  something  about  industrial 
schools — or  rather  the  possibility  of  a  big  private 
day  and  evening  school,  in  housekeeping,  cooking, 
the  minor  arts  of  life — it  was  at  Mrs  Gower's  dinner." 

"How  did  Freddy  get  on?" 

"  Mr  Wiston  was  a  dear — they  all  adored  him 
— the  New  York  women  told  me,  all  of  them  sepa 
rately,  that  they  knew  he  was  a  *  real  swell '  and  had 
no  idea  such  a  one  could  be  so  nice !  " 

"And  Mr  Rhodes?" 

"  Well,  they  liked  him,  but  not  quite  so  well.  He 
was  too  fond  of  trying  psychological  experiments. 
You  know,  Mrs  Bernard  could  not  come ;  still,  he 
was  very  good.  To  do  the  girls  justice,  they  came 
with  the  possibility  of  a  flirtation — still  less,  an  en 
gagement — almost  too  carefully  put  out  of  their 
minds.  It  was  not  quite  natural.  Had  any  of  the 
men  proposed,  I  am  sure  the  answer  would  have  been, 
'  Sir,  you  forget  yourself ! ' 

"  That  is  not  quite  natural,"  twinkled  John. 

"  You  know  they  understood  the  nature  of  the 
experiment  as  well  as  I  did.  They  were  fully  in 
formed  that  there  was  a  difference  in  our  social  posi 
tions  ;  what  the  differences  were,  they  were  left  to 
find  out  for  themselves.  Yet  nothing  would  induce 

372 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

them  to  believe  that  my  Baltimore  friend  was  a  gen 
tleman  or  that  Mr  Wiston  wasn't,  though  the  one 
was  stiff  as  a  poker  and  Freddy  made  almost  a  buf 
foon  .  of  himself  trying  to  amuse  them !  But  they 
were  all  the  more  terribly  conscious  of  their  several 
stations  in  life !  " 

"  I  see  the  difficulty  of  getting  a  proper  reaction 
from  self-conscious  elements,"  laughed  John.  "  It 
is  social  chemistry  you  are  trying.  It  needs  great 
heat.  That,  I  suppose,  was  the  ardent  Dr  Rhodes's 
excuse — 

"  I  haven't  told  you  anything  about  Dr  Rhodes  ?  " 
said  Miss  Ravenel  in  some  dismay. 

"  No,  but  your  grandmother  has.  She  said  she 
had  to  ask  him  how  his  wife  was,  one  day  at 
breakfast." 

"  You  may  laugh,  Mr  Haviland,  but  I  don't  see 
why  such  meetings  of  different  social  classes  should 
not  lead  to  marriage !  I  think  the  last  thing  to  con 
sider  is  equality  of  fortune.  There  should  be  dis 
parity  of  wealth — the  rich  should  wed  the  poor — 
and  if  different  social  classes  came  together,  it  would 
humanize  society  as  a  whole." 

"  You  have  a  very  beautiful  hat  on,  Miss  Rave 
nel,"  said  John. 

"  I  am  sure,  I  wish  Miss  Aylwin  could  have  mar 
ried  Fritz  Kollner,"  insisted  the  girl.  "  He  was 

373 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

painfully  in  love  with  her.  But  she  would  not  look 
at  him.  She  would  not  even  let  it  be  known  that  she 
had  been  a  typewriter,  and  all  the  women — even  the 
New  York  working  girls — took  her  for  a  lady," 
"  How  did  you  come  to  know  her  ?  " 
"  I  met  her  on  the  train.  She  has  promised  to 
teach  for  me — that  is,  to  take  a  Sunday-school  class 
— she  says  she  cannot  teach  anything  else.  She  is  a 
churchwoman.  But  she  is  rather  a  puzzle  to  me. 
However,  she  is  very  nice  about  the  Laurel  Run  girls. 
She  showed  them  how  to  make  over  their  gowns. 
Laurel  Run,  you  must  know,  is  the  name  of  the  watch 
factory.  She  had  one  or  two  beautiful  dresses  her 
self." 

"  Did  the  watch  girls  wear  dinner  dresses  ?  " 
"  I  did  not  want  them  to  look  different  from  the 
others,  and  they  didn't  either  after  the  first  day. 
They  all  had  white  muslins,  and  Miss  Aylwin  cut 
out  the  low  necks.  They  sat  that  night — there  were 
two  of  them — next  Mr  Wiston  and  Kollner,  and 
it  was  pretty  to  see  how  afraid  they  were  of  each 
other." 

"  Freddy  is  a  little,  gentleman,"  said  John. 

"  He    said    their    modesty    was    infectious.      He 

didn't  dare  take  his  eyes  off  his  plate !     Then  they 

looked  at  my  grandmother,  and  Miss  Brevier — my 

grandmother  wore  her  old  white  lace,  only  no  dia- 

374 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

monds.  We  drew  the  line  at  diamonds — pretty  dresses 
they  could  have  themselves." 

"  You  must  ask  Mamie  Rastacq.  But  I  don't  see 
how  low-cut  gowns  represent  the  higher  life — 

"  Not  the  higher  life,"  frowned  the  girl.  "  Only 
life  as  it  is.  We  mustn't  disguise  anything  that  we 
do.  They  will  teach  us,  if  it  is  a  wrong.  So,  I  had 
wine  at  dinner.  Some  of  the  men  had  never  seen  wine 
in  a  decent  place.  We  should  lead  no  one  into  tempta 
tion  ;  but  everyone  must  learn  to  resist  it." 

"  I  am  sure  they  are  the  better  for  the  visit,"  John 
ended  gravely. 

"  And  they  have  all  promised  to  help  in  my  classes 
next  year !  "  laughed  Miss  Ravenel,  the  woman  that 
was  ever  present  in  this  young  person  giving  place 
to  the  girl  again.  "  And  the  best  of  the  Laurel  Run 
girls  are  to  get  up  classes  in  housekeeping  during 
my  absence  in  the  winter." 

Mary  thought  sometimes  of  asking  Austin  Pinck- 
ney  for  her  next  house  party — why  not?  She  had 
asked  his  partner,  David  Radnor.  So  quickly  a 
woman  with  a  soul  like  hers  adapts  herself  to  the  pos 
sibilities  of  good  in  all  her  life's  experiences !  She 
thought  that  she  would  have  done  so,  had  she  known 
Mrs  Pinckney  at  all.  In  the  next  winter,  she  made 
occasion  to  meet  Austin's  wife — yet  even  then  she 
did  not.  How  poor  Austin,  had  he  known  it,  would 

375 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

have  had  his  heart  lightened,  that  terrible  summer! 
He  never  heard  from  her.  He  was  sure  that  he  should 
never  hear  from  her  again.  He  used  to  go  the  houses 
where  he  knew  the  people  knew  her,  in  the  autumn,  as 
they  came  back  to  town ;  he  would  talk  assiduously 
to  the  very  dullest  of  their  common  acquaintances, 
full  of  yearning  hope  that  there  might  be  some  men 
tion  of  her  name.  Yet  in  October,  when  Miss  Ravenel 
went  to  stay  with  the  Havilands  at  Garrison's  on  the 
Hudson,  John  came  up  from  town  one  night,  annoyed 
that  he  had  not  even  persuaded  Pinckney  to  come  up 
and  pass  a  night. 

"  He'd  be  just  the  man  for  one  of  your  experi 
mental  house  parties,"  said  the  unsuspecting  John. 

It  was  not  until  late  that  winter  that  she  saw  him 
again,  at  a  casual  dinner  party,  at  the  Ralstons',  dull 
rich  people,  but  very  helpful  to  her  in  her  charities. 
She  did  not  speak  to  him,  but  as  she  drew  aside  to 
let  him  pass  before  (he  was  taking  Mrs  Ralston  in) 
she  saw  that  his  face  was  quite  white.  He  only  bowed : 
she  had  expected  him  to  shake  hands.  And  after 
dinner  the  girl  in  her  gained  the  upper  hand  and  she 
made  pretext  of  a  concert  and  "  went  on." 


376 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XLIII 

MEANTIME  our  hero,  when  returned  from 
West  Virginia,  had  found  the  affairs  of 
the  striking  miners  already  forgotten  in  the  extraor 
dinary  events  that  had  been  happening  in  Wall 
Street.  That  Mr  Phineas  W.  Tamms  had  been  com 
pelled  to  make  an  assignment  he  was  aware ;  that 
Mr  Augustus  Markoff  would  be  his  assignee  he  had 
suspected ;  but  that  his  affairs — not  to  say  his  hash 
— should  be  so  speedily  settled  that  the  newspapers 
should  already  be  advertising  Markoff's  fee  was  a 
surprise  even  to  a  fellow-student  familiar  with  that 
gentleman's  nimble  wits.  He  read,  in  the  Evening 
Mail : 

"  Largest  lawyer's  fee  on  record.  It  is  reported 
that  Augustus  Markoff,  whose  success  in  extricating 
Phineas  W.  Tamms  from  his  late  embarrassments  has 
amazed  and  dazzled  Wall  Street,  has  been  tendered  the 
sum  of  $250,000  for  his  services." 

And  more  surprising  still: 

"  Lease  of  the  Allegheny  Central.  It  is  rumored 
that  the  Allegheny  Central,  whose  recent  skyrocket 
ing  performances  have  puzzled  the  Street,  has  been 
leased  to  the  Allegheny  Pacific  on  a  guaranty  of  ten 
per  cent." 

25  377 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  bunghole  lease  the  barrel !  And  ten  per  cent 
instead  of  six !  The  audacity  of  the  thing  amazed 
him.  Its  charter  forbade  it  to  pay  more  than  six  per 
cent,  or  the  State  could  step  in  and  take  the  road: 
for  it  had  been  built  in  the  days  when  railroads  were 
first  chartered  and  public  ownership  was  thought  a 
possibility.  The  road  itself  could  only  divide  six, 
but  Austin  could  easily  see  how  a  sharp  lawyer  could 
devise  a  scheme  by  which  its  stock  could  be  sold,  leased, 
or  "trusted"  to  a  corporation  of  another  State  which 
might,  directly  or  indirectly,  give  a  higher  return. 
But  who  had  done  it?  He  had  left  their  people  in 
control,  and  Mr  Gresham  was  not  likely  to  have  ad 
vised  handing  it  over,  for  any  consideration,  to  the 
Allegheny  Pacific.  So  he  had  gone  to  the  office,  and 
been  immediately  called  in  consultation  with  the  two 
seniors.  Mr  T.  Levison  Gower  was  there,  asking  what 
he  should  do  with  his  wife's  stock. 

"  I  see  nothing  whatever  but  to  take  their  ten 
per  cent,  as  long  as  they  can  pay  it — or  sell,"  Mr 
Gresham  was  saying.  "  And  if  you  didn't  sell  at  a 
thousand,  you'd  hardly  sell  at  present  prices.  These 
show  that  people  haven't  much  confidence  in  his 
management." 

"  Whose  management?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  Markoff's.  But  perhaps  you  can  tell  us  some 
thing  more.  What  do  they  say  in  Baltimore?  " 

378 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  haven't  been  to  Baltimore  since  the  day  after 
the  special  meeting.  Then  it  was  to  be  arranged  that 
the  new  preferred  stock  was  to  be  canceled,  the  at 
tempted  lease  of  the  Pacific  to  the  Central  called  off, 
and  under  your  instructions  I  took  over  one  or  two 
of  Tamms's  large  loans  for  the  Miners'  Bank — 
enough,  I  understood,  to  render  Tamms's  control 
improbable.  Then  I  saw  that  Tamms  had  failed." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  grumbled  Radnor,  "  Tamms  is  over 
board.  Gresham  got  his  wish.  He  didn't  go  to 
Dannemora  jail,  but  he  did  worse — he  put  himself 
unreservedly  in  Markoff's  hands.  Markoff  paid  his 
debts  in  full  and  saved  his  reputation.  The  old  man 
had  no  use  for  that.  The  grateful  creditors  are 
giving  Markoff  a  quarter  million.  Tamms  is  in  a 
sanatorium.  That  is  because  Markoff  personally 
shouldered  his  bad  debts.  The  good  ones  were  sold 
out." 

"But,"  said  Austin,  "I  still  don't  see— didn't 
Markoff  keep  his  promises?  " 

"  Every  one  of  them.  The  preferred  stock  was 
canceled.  That  ruined  Tamms.  His  loans  which 
had  Central  collateral  were  sold  out  —  somebody 
bought  them.  Somebody  called  and  took  up  our 
Miners'  Bank  loans,  paid  principal  and  interest.  The 
bank  couldn't  refuse.  Somebody  got  short  of  Alle 
gheny  Pacific — and  then  long  of  Allegheny  Central. 

379 


But  your  Markoff  is  a  man  of  his  word.  Instead  of 
leasing  the  Allegheny  Pacific  to  the  Allegheny  Cen 
tral,  he  has  leased  the  Allegheny  Central  to  the  Alle 
gheny  Pacific.  All  his  promises  were  performed. 
But  you  made  some  promise  in  return,  I  think?  " 

"  I  promised  him  a  week's  grace  and  secrecy — 
you  approved  by  telegram." 

"  Perfectly  true.  But  in  that  week  Tamms  had 
to  fail,  and  it  is  possible — mind  you,  I  do  not  say 
I  know,  but  this  is  a  free  country  and  a  man  can  buy 
or  sell  as  he  chooses — it  is  just  possible  that  Mr 
Markoff,  on  his  own  account,  was  buying  some  Alle 
gheny  Central  stock.  At  all  events,  Tamms  has  gone 
to  a  sanatorium,  and  Markoff  has  privately  intimated 
that  he  hopes  we  will  remain  as  counsel  for  the  Alle 
gheny  Central  Railroad." 

"  Damn  his  soul ! "  murmured  Mr  Radnor,  as 
Mr  Gresham  ended. 

"  That's  none  of  our  business,"  interposed  the 
sensible  Lucie.  "  I  can  only  say  I  hope  you  will 
be  counsel,  sir.  It  is  your  duty " 

"  I  rather  incline  to  think  so  myself.  Moreover, 
now  that  he  can  afford  to,  I  suspect  Mr  Markoff 
means  to  be  honest.  I  intend  so  to  advise  him." 

Lucie  laughed.  "  To  think  I  had  the  man  at  my 
house  last  summer !  I  saw  he  was  bound  to  get  on 
— my  wife  has  an  instinct  at  discovering  geniuses. 

380 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

I  suppose  he'll  have  a  house  of  his  own  now.     Coming 
uptown,  Pinckney?  " 

"  I  think  I  will — I  am  rather  tired." 

"  Your  wife,  I  know,  is  at  Newport.  So  you 
have  taken  the  Ambrosini  cottage  for  the  summer?  " 

Austin  did  not  know  it,  but  it  was  not  the  first 
time  he  had  to  pretend  to  a  knowledge  of  his  wife's 
affairs.  He  was  anxious  to  get  back  even  to  the 
empty  house.  He  did  not  know  why.  His  wife 
always  wrote  to  the  office. 

"  I  am  dining  alone  myself,"  said  Gower,  as  the 
brougham  rolled  off  noiselessly.  "  Won't  you  come 
with  me?  I'll  drop  you  at  your  house,  if  you  must 
change." 

"  I — if  I  may  let  you  know  when  I  get  there," 
said  Austin.  "  There  may  be  some  message  for  me." 

On  the  hall  table  was  the  usual  heap  of  bills  and 
business  circulars ;  nothing  else ;  it  was  late  in  June ; 
nothing  else.  Oh,  yes,  there  was  a  telegram — it  was 
from  Dorothy,  begging  him  to  come  to  Newport  at 
once,  "  matter  of  importance  to  Daisy."  He  ran 
back  to  the  carriage  where  Lucie  was  placidly  wait 
ing,  puffing  at  a  large  cigar.  That  honest  gentle 
man  had  always  had  a  quiet  conscience,  and  at  fifty 
his  digestion  was  unimpaired. 

"  I  have  had  a  message  from  my  wife.  I  must 
go  to  Newport." 

381 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Well,  you  can't  go  till  twelve  o'clock ;  you  may 
as  well  dine  with  me  as  anywhere.  You  needn't  dress  ; 
we  shall  be  quite  alone,  and  the  house  is  in  brown 
hollands." 

There  was  something  friendly  about  this  man. 
As  they  sat  in  the  palatial  dining  hall,  Austin  reflected 
on  the  contrast  between  it  and  his  last  week's  sur 
roundings.  He  would  like  to  bring  Zappi  there. 
He  wondered  if  the  broad-shouldered  engineer  would 
still  want  his  three  plates  of  ice  cream.  He  ventured 
to  tell  Gower  a  little  about  the  strike,  and  found  a 
sympathetic  listener. 

Coming  home  at  ten,  he  had  the  curiosity  to  re 
turn  by  way  of  the  Havilands'.  Their  house  was 
closed  and  dark.  Wandering  down  the  hill,  he  looked 
down  the  cross  street  where  was  Miss  Ravenel's  apart 
ment  ;  it  all  looked  dark.  Of  course  he  did  not  know 
her  window ;  probably  she  had  gone  home  to  Ravenel. 
Then  he  pulled  himself  together  for  an  idle  fool  and 
went  home  to  pack  his  grip. 

Well,  why  shouldn't  he  go  on  loving  her  ?  Dorothy 
missed  nothing.  Other  men  before  him  had  had  their 
private  shrine — other  men,  well  working  in  the  world, 
their  secret  consecration.  If  he  might  worship  her  in 
his  heart,  he  might  endure  the  sightless  eyes.  Surely, 
it  could  do  her  no  harm.  He  wished  that  she  might 
marry  some  good  man.  Who  was  there  good  enough? 

382 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

It  was  a  marvel  that  men,  free  men,  could  live  in  the 
world  and  not  be  at  her  feet.  She  promised — for 
she  was  slow  in  maturing — to  be  still  more  beautiful. 
Would  men  see  it  then  ?  No,  he  wished  that  she  might 
never  marry ;  he  wished  she  had  been  plain,  unnoticed 
always,  for  he  had  loved  her  just  as  much. 

The  last  was  the  thought  of  his  feverish  dawn, 
the  hour  when  the  heart  is  slow,  the  half -dreaming 
hour  when  all  one's  acquired  nature  seems  to  go,  all 
built-up  rules  of  conduct  melt  away.  Then  came  the 
full  day,  and  the  brave  sea  air,  as  he  paced  the  deck 
of  the  little  steamboat.  Dorothy,  at  the  pretentious 
"  cottage,"  was  waiting  breakfast  for  him.  She  gave 
him  no  other  greeting  than  to  plunge  at  once  into 
business. 

"  Mama  has  telegraphed  me  that  Daisy  must 
be  married  this  summer,  and  she  wants  it  in  our 
house." 

"Married?     Whom  to?" 

"  Puzzi,  of  course.  You  know  they've  been  at 
Rome.  It  seems  Puzzi  was  there.  But  she  doesn't 
want  the  marriage  there,  and  it  can't  be  in  Phila 
delphia  in  August.  She  hopes  we've  got  a  house. 
So  I  thought  of  the  Ambrosini  villa.  You  know,  it's 
always  to  let." 

"Can  we  afford  it?" 

"  What  nonsense !  I  suppose  mama'll  chip  in 
383 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

something.  But  then  she's  got  to  get  the  trousseau, 
and  I've  no  doubt  he's  asked  for  a  settlement.  Those 
Italians  always  do.  He's  not  getting  married  at 
Camden —  Anyhow  I  suppose  mama  feels  she  must 
make  the  best  of  it,  and  this  is  the  place  to  do  it.  A 
marquis  counts,  in  Newport.  The  rent  is  only  three 
thousand.  I  see  your  friend  Markoff  has  made  lots 
of  money.  You  were  in  that  railroad  business,  too. 
Haven't  you  made  anything?  " 

. "  I  am  only  a  lawyer.    I  get  my  share  of  the  firm's 
earnings — 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  ask  for  more.  Markoff  has 
actually  hired  one  of  the  Duval  houses,  and  Mrs 
Rastacq  has  asked  him  to  dinner." 

"  You  ought  to  have  married  him,"  said  Austin 
bitterly. 

"  Well,  he  made  love  to  me  at  Cambridge —  Her 
husband's  blank  look  of  horror  quelled  for  a  moment 
her  impetuosity.  She  changed  the  subject  to  the 
wedding  and  the  guests. 

"  You  are  right — there  need  be  no  trouble  about 
money,"  said  Austin  at  the  end  of  the  conversation. 

Pinckney  went  through  that  summer  with  a  sense 
of  personal  degradation.  It  was  degrading  to  have 
to  give  away  his  sister-in-law  to  an  ape  like  Puzzi. 
But  for  the  poor  girl's  sake  it  had  to  be  done.  Cer 
tain  business  affairs,  which,  for  very  protection,  he 

384 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  pass  through  his  hands,  made  it  all  the  harder. 
There  was  a  woman  to  be  bought  off,  a  blackmailer 
to  be  frightened.  And  Austin  could  not  tell  the  girl 
all  he  heard  about  her  noble  husband.  She  arrived, 
with  her  mother,  only  a  week  before  the  ceremony. 
Even  Mrs  Somers  was  for  a  moment  shaken ;  the 
Major  had  sought  out  Austin  at  the  New  York  Club 
one  day  and  told  him  what  all  Paris  knew  of  Puzzi's 
past ;  at  his  request  she  said  something  of  it  to  her 
daughter.  She  answered  that  she  did  not  care  so 
long  as  he  had  not  cheated  at  cards. 

Austin  stayed  as  little  as  he  could  at  Newport. 
The  festivities  over,  he  went  into  the  Maine  woods 
on  a  hunting  trip.  Settled  in  the  city  for  the  autumn, 
he  tried  to  lose  himself  in  hard  work.  Dorothy  had 
begun  her  usual  round  of  autumn  visits ;  Mrs  Somers 
had  sold  her  Philadelphia  house  and  gone  to  live 
in  Paris.  Puzzi's  drafts  were  usually  dated  from 
Monte  Carlo. 

From  one  thing  only,  that  dreadful  season,  did 
Austin  derive  a  little  pleasure — it  was  a  letter  con 
taining  the  announcement  that  "  at  the  request  of 
Powhatan  Post,  No.  11,262,  he  had  been  elected  an 
honorary  member  of  the  American  Labor  League." 
He  remembered  sadly  how  he  had  planned  that  way 
of  working  with  Mary  Ravenel.  Well,  he  would  have 
to  carry  out  the  work  alone. 

385 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Still,  when  November  came,  he  began  to  watch 
for  her.  He  would  walk  uptown  by  Rivington  Street. 
He  frequented  the  Columbian  Club — even  if  he  met 
her  father,  he  might  speak  of  her.  But  that  gentle 
man  never  appeared ;  finally  one  day  he  asked  the 
Major  about  him  and  heard  for  the  first  time 
of  his  marriage.  Then  John  Haviland  had  told 
him  of  her  visit  at  Garrison's — and  he  had  not 
dared  to  accept  his  invitation.  He  must  first  know 
whether  she  wanted  to  avoid  him.  Her  will  must 
be  done. 

Then  had  come  that  dinner  at  the  Ralstons'.  His 
wife  had  wanted  to  go,  and  he  always  went  with  her 
when  she  asked  him.  They  arrived  late,  and  the  room 
was  full ;  suddenly  it  swam  before  him ;  he  became  con 
scious  of  her  presence  in  the  farther  corner.  He  was 
sent  in  immediately,  with  the  hostess.  Passing  by 
him,  she  bowed ;  he  had  hoped — it  was  so  long  since 
they  had  met— they  might  have  shaken  hands.  Her 
face  was  very  white. 

At  dinner  she  was  some  distance  away,  but  he 
could  steal  a  glance  occasionally.  She  was  as  beau 
tiful  as  an  angel,  but  she  looked  still  pale.  Could  she 
be  ill?  He  longed  for  the  moment  to  come,  after 
dinner 

The  men  were  forever  over  their  cigars.  Would 
old  Ralston  never  make  the  move?  Coming  into  the 

386 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

drawing-room,  one  sweep  of  his  eyes  told  him  that 
they  were  too  late.  Miss  Ravenel  had  gone.  She 
had  avoided  him. 


XLIV 

WHEN  Beatrice  denied  to  him  her  salutation, 
Dante  wrote  a  poem  which  made  the  world 
her  debtor.  Poor  Austin  could  not  do  this — he  had 
no  right,  of  this  unmarried  girl,  to  claim  even  the 
courtesy  of  a  bow.  But  now,  his  soul  beat  out  its 
wings  against  the  bars.  He  could  not  live  without  it 
— he  could  not  live,  he  could  not  go  on  living.  True, 
a  fragment  of  a  poem  crossed  his  mind — it  was  a  little 
verse  of  St.  Ursula : 

"  St.  Ursula,  upon  her  path  to  heaven 
Once  met  a  pilgrim  lying  on  her  way — " 

How  did  the  verse  go  on? 

"  His  limbs 

Were  in  the  dust,  and  on  his  breast  was  blood. 
He  craved  a  cup  of  water — " 

Surely,  her  salutation,  her  speaking  to  him,  as  she 
might  to  the  meanest  of  humanity,  when  they  met 
— it  was  not  his  fault  that  they  met — was  but  as  the 
cup  of  water  to  him! 

387 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Ursula 

Drew  back  lest  she  should  soil  her  robe,  went  on 
Her  way  to  heaven  and  was  sainted  there — 
But  all  the  damned  of  hell  cry  out  at  her." 

Was  he  of  the  damned?  Was  this  what  happened 
to  men  when  they  went  lost?  God  knows,  he  would 
not  have  soiled  her  robe — no,  nor  touched  it  even — 
but  now,  he  could  not  go  on.  Yet  still,  though  she 
held  him  in  horror,  his  heart  would  not  believe  his 
love  was  evil.  His  mind  could  put  the  thing  in  plain 
est  words — pursuit  were  despicable,  even  voiceless 
love  a  sin — and  his  heart  would  not  credit  it.  What 
world  was  this  he  was  living  in?  And  why  had  he 
not  sooner  been  a  man?  So  raged  his  thoughts  as 
he  took  his  way  home  on  foot ;  Dorothy  had  gone 
on  to  the  first  great  ball  of  the  winter ;  he,  for  once, 
had  bluntly  refused.  The  night  was  very  cold,  the 
rain  freezing  on  the  sidewalk  as  it  fell. 

She  scorned  him,  condemned  him,  that  was  clear. 
Yet  what  had  he  ever  told  her? — and  perhaps,  were 
he  to  tell  her,  she  might  have  pity.  The  spoken 
word,  indeed,  had  been  an  insult ;  yet  she  could  not, 
more  plainly,  have  cast  him  from  her.  She  had  even 
fled  from  him  at  Ravenel;  it  was  clear  now  that  the 
letter  had  been  but  an  excuse. 

He  crossed  the  street,  and  Madison  Square,  to 
lower  Fifth  Avenue.  A  young  girl,  as  he  passed  the 

388 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

shadow  of  a  higher  building,  mutely  accosted  him; 
whatever  she  may  have  meant  to  say  died  upon  her 
lips,  but  she  stood  in  his  way.  With  a  sense  of  sud 
den  shock  he  saw  her  face,  how  white  and  fair  it  was ; 
her  slender  figure,  still,  on  this  December  night,  clad 
in  a  shirt  waist;  she  shivered  with  the  cold  as  he 
looked  at  her. 

"  Poor  child,"  he  said,  "  are  you  hungry?  " 
It  needed  not  her  faint  Yes  to  tell  him  so.  What 
could  he  do?  He  could  give  her  money.  She  had 
turned  to  walk  with  him ;  they  were  passing  by  an 
all-night  chop  house  with  lighted  windows.  He 
passed  a  bill  into  her  little  hands  and  asked  her  to 
go  in  and  buy  herself  what  she  wanted.  Very  shyly, 
she  answered  that  they  would  not  let  her  in  alone. 
Well,  what  did  it  matter.  He  need  not  shrink  from 
the  dust  of  the  road.  He  went  in  with  her.  Some 
other  women,  and  men,  were  there ;  Austin  observed 
that  the  young  girl  did  not  seem  to  know  them,  nor 
they  her.  They  stared  at  her,  even  curiously,  as  if 
she  did  not  belong  there.  Hot  soups  and  chops  were 
brought  for  the  girl;  for  Austin,  glass  after  glass 
of  whisky.  This,  after  all,  was  what  men  did.  The 
girl  looked  at  him  anxiously.  She  was  pitiably  fair. 
She  told  him  she  was  out  of  work,  with  a  dying  father ; 
but  somehow  he  felt  that  the  usual  tale  might  be  the 
truth. 

389 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

When  she  had  eaten,  they  hastened  out,  and 
coming  into  the  cold,  Austin  ordered  a  cab.  "  Tell 
the  driver  your  address,  after  I  am  gone — "  There 
was  no  use  preaching  a  sermon ;  he  only  pressed  a 
small  roll  of  bills  into  her  hand.  "  And  do  buy 
yourself  a  coat."  He  would  at  least  try  to  save 
another  soul  that  night ;  he  was  not  too  worth 
less  to  do  that ;  the  rest  must  be  with  God.  If 
he  could  not  preach  to  her,  he  had  done  her  no 
harm. 

"  I  cannot  take  this —  Are  you  going  to  leave 
me?  "  But  this  time  the  poor  child  said  it  with  a 
blush.  Some  impulse  of  pity  made  Austin  say : 

"  My  child —  If  you  loved  anyone,  you  would 
not  ask  me —  The  girl  looked  up  at  him  frankly, 
like  a  friend — and  yet  in  wonder. 

"  Here,"  he  said,  handing  her  a  card  on  which 
he  had  written  the  address  of  one  of  John's  agencies. 
"  Go  there  to-morrow,  and  perhaps  they  can  find 
you  work — "  But  the  girl  was  now  looking  at  him 
wistfully.  He  turned  his  face  away.  "  Remember 
your  promise  to  get  a  coat." 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  only  said.  And  somehow 
the  note  of  compassion,  even  in  the  poor  outcast's 
voice,  for  the  first  time  broke  Austin  down. 

But  going  home,  he  grasped  a  decanter  of  whisky 
and  drank  a  tumblerful.  "  I  cannot  get  drunk,"  he 

390 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

thought.  "  That  is  what  men  do.  Why  cannot  I 
get  drunk?"  He  smoked  and  tried  to  read.  He 
drank  again.  Finally,  at  four  or  five,  he  went  to  his 
room,  rather  by  way  of  avoiding  Dorothy  than  with 
any  desire  for  sleep. 

Austin's  soul,  perhaps,  was  very  nigh  to  founder 
ing  that  night.  Yet  withal  it  may  be  doubted  whether 
his  soul  was  so  nearly  lost  in  all  its  sorrow  as  in  the 
pleasure,  the  frivolities,  the  surface  joys  of  those 
years  before  at  Newport  which  had  culminated  in  the 
satin  walls  of  Mamie  Rastacq's  cottage. 

And  he  felt  no  shame  in  the  morning.  Surely 
not  for  his  hour  with  the  poor  outcast ;  hardly  even 
for  his  drunkenness.  He  had  tried  it  as  men  try  a 
drug,  and  proved  it  idle.  He  walked  downtown  and 
went  to  work.  In  the  afternoon  he  had  the  curiosity 
to  call  at  John's — or  rather  Mrs  Haviland's — rescue 
agency.  And — hardly  to  his  surprise,  but  much  to 
his  gladness — he  found  that  the  young  woman  had 
really  called ;  moreover,  that  the  matron,  for  once  in 
a  hundred  times,  had  been  persuaded  that  her  story 
was  genuine.  He  did  not  ask  her  name,  nor  whither 
they  had  sent  her.  Somehow  he  felt,  in  his  own  de 
spair,  there  might  be  more  danger  for  him  in  the  com 
pany  of  this  poor  girl — than  in  any  Mamie  Rastacq's 
challenges.  Our  hero  was  no  Dominic — the  Spaniard 
sainted  for  virginity,  who  founded  the  Inquisition — 

391 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  chaste,  only,  can  be  so  cruel,  the  Puritan  so  fa 
natic.  He  was  only  a  man,  and  just  now  caring  noth 
ing  for  his  own  soul,  but  having  yet  "  the  infinite 
compassion  of  the  pure." 

But  so — perhaps  for  a  week  or  two — his  life  was 
left  to  tremble  in  the  balance.  And  then  one  day  his 
wife  wanted  him  to  go  to  the  Monday  Club ;  it  was 
to  meet  in  the  great  palace  of  an  Ohio  millionaire, 
and  the  lion  of  the  occasion,  by  an  incongruity  not 
unusual  in  New  York,  the  Russian  Nihilist  prince, 
Koprine.  Dorothy  cared  nothing  about  the  Nihilist, 
except  when  he  told  stories  of  his  life  when,  as  a  boy, 
he  had  been  page  to  the  Czar,  but  she  did  care  about 
the  dancing  that  followed  after  supper.  Austin  knew 
Koprine ;  and  after  his  address  the  latter  sought  him 
out  and  engaged  him  in  conversation,  regardless 
of  the  queue  of  fluttering  fair  the  hostess  was  mar 
shaling  to  present  to  him. 

"  Who  is  that  handsome  man  with  a  jaw  like  a 
pirate  monopolizing  my  prince?  You  ought  to  know, 
Miss  Ravenel — you  know  all  the  queer  people.  Not 
Dorothy's  husband?  Well,  well." 

Austin  looked  up  and  saw  her  behind  his  hostess, 
with  Grace.  She  was  evidently  going  to  be  presented 
by  their  hostess  to  Koprine.  He  stood  aside  from  the 
big  Russian,  who  had  by  this  time  risen,  and  watched 
her.  But  it  was  Grace  who  spoke  to  Koprine ;  Miss 

392 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Ravenel  turned  to  Pinckney  and  stretched  out  her 
hand  frankly. 

"  Why  did  you  not  speak  to  me  the  other  night  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  my  world,"  said  Austin  Pinckney 
slowly. 

"  It  is  mine " 

The  dancing  was  beginning;  a  boy  came  and 
claimed  her ;  he  watched  them  dance.  He  would  not 
have  danced  with  her  for  worlds.  But  he  still  stood 
there,  watching  them — 

The  youth  appeared  to  think  that  she  belonged 
to  him,  and  so  came  back,  after  five  minutes,  and 
left  her,  where  Austin  was  standing,  watching.  She 
was  now  all  aflush ;  she  had  been  pale  before. 

"  It  is  very  hot " 

"  Come  into  the  other  room.  Shall  I  get  some 
water?  " 

"  If  you  please.  I  will  wait  here,  in  the  win 
dow." 

Austin  got  a  goblet  of  water  and  returned. 

"Why  did  you  not  get  yourself  some?" 

"  I  did  not  stop  to  get  another  glass." 

"  Why  have  you  not  been  to  see  me  ?  I  have  been 
staying  at  Gracie's — 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  not  be  at  home."  There 
was  almost  a  little  gasp  in  his  voice ;  the  woman,  now 
suddenly,  looked  at  him. 

26  393 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  should  like  to  talk  to  you  about  Laurel  Run 
— the  Watch  Trust  is  worse  than  ever.  But  you 
look  tired  to-night — don't  you  want  to  get  yourself 
some  champagne  ?  " 

"  Only  a  little  water,"  said  Austin,  his  lips  dry. 

"  Here,  take  this,"  said  Miss  Ravenel  impulsively. 
The  room,  for  a  moment,  to  Austin  swam.  Then  he 
took  the  glass — she  had  but  touched  it — and  drank 
of  the  water  slowly. 

Coming  home,  he  could  only  say  to  himself,  St. 
Ursula — St.  Ursula.  But  oh,  thank  God,  thank  God ! 
How  nobly  she  had  done  it !  What  miracle  had  led 
her  to  the  simple  action?  She  had  seen,  somehow, 
that  he,  too,  that  night,  must  be  saved. 


XLV 

THAT  was  the  winter  of  the  first  great  effort 
to  uplift  New  York  City  politics ;  and  it  was 
his  speeches  in  this  campaign  that  first  brought 
Pinckney  to  the  public  attention.  There  was  a  vigor 
and  vitality  about  them,  an  ideality  combined  with 
practical  good  sense,  that  few  men,  of  the  side  the  Sun 
called  "  academes,"  could  show.  They  excited  but  a 
languid  interest  in  Dorothy,  however.  Even  when  a 
sympathetic  friend  pointed  out — it  was  Markoff  him- 

394 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

self — that  politics  might  lead  to  Washington  and  an 
ambassadorship,  Dorothy  only  shrugged  her  snowy 
shoulders.  Markoff  was  quite  free  to  loose  his  ad 
miration  on  her  now.  In  fact,  Dorothy  had  discov 
ered  a  fascinating  revenge  in  making  him  want  to  kiss 
her  again  ;  better  than  cutting  him.  Moreover,  Mark- 
off  was  decidedly  a  man  to  know.  His  house  parties 
were  distinctly,  that  year,  the  thing.  And  he  had 
never  asked  her.  The  new  game,  bridge,  had  come 
in  vogue — imported  from  Constantinople — and  it 
was  said  that  ladies,  at  his  house,  played  for  money. 
Dorothy  thought  it  would  be  delicious  to  play  for 
real  money.  She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  put 
one  hand  up  to  the  bow  she  had  disarranged;  the 
Hebrew  followed  her  gloved  hand  with  his  warm 
brown  eyes. 

"  I  should  hate  to  live  in  Washington,"  she  said. 
"  New  York  is  good  enough  for  me.  And  an  am 
bassadorship  costs  money — 

"  Oh,"  laughed  Markoff,  "  not  if  you  are  a 
reformer !  " 

"  I  mean,  you  must  have  the  money  to  spend.  In 
London,  even  in  Rome  or  Paris,  you  are  ridiculous 
under  fifty  thousand  a  year." 

"  A  hundred  is  better — 

"  A  hundred  is  better — and  you've  got  it — but 
poor  Austin  will  never  be  rich." 

395 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  He's  got  a  wife  though — there  must  be  an  am 
bassadress — 

Dorothy,  looking  at  him,  wondered  just  how  far 
it  would  be  fun  to  let  him  go.  Well,  she  wanted  the 
invitation.  .  .  . 

Meantime,  Miss  Ravenel  had  made  Dorothy's 
acquaintance.  First,  at  a  woman's  lunch,  she  had 
found  herself  next  her ;  she  had  drawn  her  aside  and 
tried  to  interest  her  in  the  "  social  intercourse  plan  " 
— as  John  used  laughingly  to  term  their  idea  of 
teaching  the  working  classes  how  to  have  a  society. 
But  Dorothy  had  shown  not  the  slightest  interest  in 
the  condition  of  any  classes  but  their  own.  "  Why 
don't  you  speak  to  Austin  about  it?"  Dorothy 
laughed  (Miss  Ravenel  had  begun  by  telling  Dorothy 
that  she  knew  her  husband)  ;  "  he's  always  mulling 
about  the  slums  and  the  condition  of  the  people.  I 
believe  they  have  just  as  good  a  time  as  we  do;  if 
they  don't,  it's  their  own  fault."  But  Mary  could 
not  believe  that  there  was  not  more  in  her  than  this, 
and  would  not  give  over. 

Perhaps,  correlative  to  Austin's  ecstasy,  Miss 
Ravenel  had  had  some  moments  of  trepidation  after 
their  last  interview.  She  had  resolutely  dismissed 
them,  however.  She  was  trying  hard  enough  (per 
haps  unconsciously)  not  to  see  his  love;  but  it  was 
that  reality  which  made  her  so  sure  that  Austin  would 

396 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

acquit  her  of  anything  but  friendliness.  She  had 
been  sorry  for  him ;  she  desired  to  be  a  friend  to  him ; 
so,  womanlike,  she  began  upon  his  wife. 

There  is  a  story  of  a  miner  who,  in  Mexico,  ex 
ploring  an  old  abandoned  mine,  tapping  the  walls 
to  find  the  hidden  water,  found  nothing  but  the  dull 
note  of  earth,  until,  at  the  very  last,  a  different  sound 
invited  more  careful  search ;  the  probe  went  through, 
an  opening  was  made,  and  in  the  secret  treasure  cham 
ber,  in  the  dress  of  three  centuries  before,  heaped 
up  with  rubies  and  with  turquoises,  an  Aztec  princess 
lay  as  if  asleep.  Mary,  full  of  faith  in  other  women 
as  she  was  full  of  the  happiness  of  life  herself,  could 
not  believe  there  was  no  treasure  chamber.  One  wall 
after  another  she  tried  with  Dorothy,  but  only  one 
door  would  open,  that  of  the  world  of  "  society." 
Only  in  one  other  woman  had  Miss  Ravenel  ever  been 
so  impressed  by  this  ;  and  that,  strangely  enough,  was 
Miss  Aylwin ;  but  in  her  it  was  at  least  ideal ;  "  so 
ciety,"  to  her  imagination,  represented  a  sort  of 
fairyland.  And  Mary  Ravenel  had  not  given  up  the 
quest — long  since — perhaps  too  soon? — abandoned 
by  Austin — when,  a  year  later,  he  told  her  of  his 
going  West.  For  he  had  permitted  himself  one  call 
each  winter,  and  this  was  the  second.  Triumphant 
in  that  year's  work — it  was  the  first  year  of  John's 
election,  the  second  of  his  own  fellowship  with  human- 

397 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ity — his  heart  and  conscience  now  at  rest,  our  hero 
had  come — in  reality,  not  avowedly — to  lay  his  sheaf 
of  leaves  at  her  feet  and  have  her  tell  him  which  were 
leaves  of  weed  and  which  were  laurel  leaves.  For 
insensibly,  already,  to  Austin,  this  woman  had  come 
to  assay  his  life.  And  it  was  she  who  had  shown  him 
the  way  into  the  lives  of  men. 

Mary  was  at  Miss  Brevier's  this  time,  and  that 
old  lady,  evidently  somnolent,  was  upon  the  sofa. 
Yet  her  presence  had  made  Austin  bold  to  say — bold 
to  lay,  in  his  secret  allusion,  both  his  past  and  his 
future  duty,  for  her  to  judge.  They  had  again  been 
discussing  Dante — Austin  remembered  well  enough — 
had  she  forgotten? — their  word  on  the  subject  at 
Laurel  Run — and  imperceptibly  he  had  been  led  to 
take  against  himself  the  side  he  only  had  to  justify. 
The  talk  had  led  from  the  Vita  Nuova  to  Dante's 
future ;  to  Gemma  Donati ;  to  the  real  effect  of 
Beatrice  on  his  life.  Men  and  women  may  together 
discuss  all  things  to-day ;  talk  of  love,  indeed,  is  usu 
ally  a  triviality;  neither  of  them,  certainly  not  Miss 
Ravenel,  was  in  the  least  self-conscious. 

"  No  noble  love,  I  am  sure,  would  harm  a  life," 
he  had  been  led  to  say.  "  No  love,  I  am  sure,  can  be 
wrong 

"  Love  may  not  be  wrong ;  the  telling  of  it  may 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  do  not  believe  it  harmed  Beatrice — if,  indeed, 
she  ever  knew  of  it — and  Dante  surely — 

"  It  is  Gemma  Donati — Dante's  wife,  the  mother 
of  his  children — who  is  first  to  be  considered.  And 
even  as  to  Dante  himself,  I  do  not  feel  sure ;  do  you?  " 

It  had  been  on  Austin's  lips  to  plead  for  such 
love  as  a  consecration ;  to  argue  to  her — as  the  poor 
man  had  so  often  done  to  himself — for  the  flame  as 
almost  vestal,  to  be  cherished  in  holiness,  despite 
fortuitous  ties  which  (after  all)  were  things  of  human 
convention  if  not  of  the  flesh.  But  he  saw  into  Miss 
Ravenel's  eyes,  and  found  that  he  could  not.  Then, 
too,  he  had  been  studying  Dante's  life,  so  that  her 
words  came  to  him  with  a  touch  of  divination.  He 
had  read  that  Dante's  love  had  not  lasted  even  unto 
Beatrice's  death;  that  he  fell  in  love  a  second  time, 
with  Pargoletta,  of  Lucca ;  even  a  third  time,  with 
a  peasant  maid  of  the  Alps  of  Cosentino,  hump 
backed,  and  by  whom  he  had  a  child.  Others,  indeed, 
say  Gentucca,  mentioned  in  the  "  Purgatorio,"  was 
a  noble  and  beautiful  maiden  of  Lucca  with  whom 
Dante  fell  in  love  during  his  exile,  but  Balbi,  a  Geno 
ese  noble,  more  charitably :  "  Nothing  is  known  of 
this  Gentucca ;  we  will  not  enter  into  a  discussion  of 
how  much  she  had  been  loved  by  Dante  and  how  far  he 
had  again  been  faithless  to  the  memory  of  Beatrice; 
let  us  pass  over  in  silence  the  consolations  or  errors 

399 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  the  poor  exile."  Then,  too,  Beatrice  had  left  him. 
"  Si  tosto  come  in  su  la  soglia  fui  di  mia  seconda 
etade,  e  mutai  vita,  questi  si  tolse  a  me,  e  diessi 
altrui " 

But  still  Austin  forgot  that  he  was  silent,  as  he 
looked  at  her.  These  words,  of  the  thirtieth  canto 
of  the  "  Purgatorio,"  where  he  makes  her  say  "  he 
gave  himself  to  others  " — were  written  twenty-four 
years  after  Beatrice's  death. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  "  It  was  Mary 
Ravenel  who  spoke. 

"  I  am  thinking  that  men  are  liars,"  said  he. 
"  Did  you  know,  Dante  wrote  a  sirvente  introducing 
the  names  of  sixty  of  the  greatest  beauties  of  Flor 
ence,  that  he  might,  among  the  sixty,  introduce  her 
name?  Yet  in  his  sonnet  of  three  stanzas  he  scrupu 
lously  explains  that  the  second  is  intended  for  Miss 
Portinari,  not  the  other  lady.  For,  on  a  journey  to 
Bologna,  it  had  occurred  to  him  to  take  another  lady 
as  his  schermo,  his  screen,  and  when  he  returned  he 
did  so  for  this  cause ;  and  for  this  cause,  he  says  in 
"  Vita  Nuova,"  Beatrice  denied  him  her  salutation. 
When  he  first  met  Beatrice  it  was  on  a  May  day, 
1275,  in  the  Cascine  gardens;  and  she  was  eight  and 
he  was  nine.  If  it  was  a  lie,  it  is  a  lie  that  has  lasted. 
But,  as  Heine  says,  the  kitten  lived  long  and  happily 
for  many  years ;  Beatrice  was  wed  to  Mr  Simon  Bardi 

400 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  1287.  She  died  about  1290.  Dante  began  his 
poem  in  1294 ;  about  1314  he  wrote  the  four  '  divine 
cantos.'  If  it  were  a  woman,  and  her  name  were 
Marie  Bashkirtseff,  we  should  call  it  silly,  I  suppose." 

Miss  Ravenel  looked  up  puzzled.  But  the  man 
had  his  heart  in  pincers  and  was  driving  red-hot 
needles  through  it. 

"  Tell  me  more  about  Gemma  Donati,"  said  Miss 
Ravenel. 

"  Nothing  is  known  about  Gemma  Donati.  Prob 
ably,  she  was  not  a  good  cook." 

Miss  Ravenel  rose;  and  Pinckney  rose,  contrite. 
"  And  so  you  are  going  to  hunt  in  the  Rockies  for 
your  summer.  Why  don't  you  take  Dorothy  with 
you?  " 

"  Dorothy  ?  "  He  did  not  know  that  Miss  Ravenel 
called  her  by  her  first  name;  and  indeed  to  Dorothy 
she  did  not ;  but  she  felt  then  that  she  had  to. 

"  I  think  she  would  like  to  go,"  said  Miss  Ravenel 
as  she  colored  a  little,  but  still  went  on  bravely : 
"  Have  you  asked  her?  " 

"  She  likes  Newport  in  the  summer,  and  to  be 
around  New  York." 

"  I  think  she  is  getting  tired  of  it."     Then,  more 

lightly :  "  It  must  be  an  education  in  itself  to  be  away 

from  everything — in  a  tent  in  the  mountains — the 

stars  only  above,  the  whole  continent  beneath  one." 

27  401 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Austin  paced  across  the  room  once  or  twice. 
Then :  "  I  will— I  will  ask  her,"  said  he.  Then  he 
spoke,  very  simply,  his  heart's  desire :  "  May  I  write 
to  you?" 

"  Why,  of  course."  And  the  woman  could  not 
see  that  she  had  made  his  life  worth  living.  "  I  shall 
be  managing  my  boycott  all  summer.  Tell  me  how 
Dorothy  likes  the  West." 

"Your  boycott?" 

"  The  Watch  Trust's,  I  mean,  at  Laurel  Run." 

"  Oh,  I  remember." 

So  Austin  took  his  leave. 


XLVI 

IP  Austin  had  hoped  that  contact  with  life's  ele 
mental  conditions  would  tend  to  make  its  com 
plexities  pall  upon  her,  he  had  reckoned  without  his 
Dorothy's  temperament.  For  Dorothy's  nature  was 
the  perennial — we  will  not  say  eternal — feminine ;  the 
woman  Meredith  meant  when  he  said  she  would  be  the 
last  thing  civilized  by  man ;  also,  perhaps,  the  woman 
who  was  first  cause  even  of  civilization  when  she  bade 
her  lover  seek  pink  shells  to  tie  around  her  middle 
and  began  to  decorate  her  breast  in  geometrical  pat 
terns  in  blue  woad.  It  is  for  such  that  even  in  the 

402 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

kitchen-middens  of  the  prehistoric  Maine  Indians 
one  finds  bone  combs  and  toilet  articles  so  adorned; 
it  is  not  from  such  that  civilization  will  ever  find  its 
cure.  The  world  of  1889  just  suited  Dorothy  as  it 
was ;  in  the  slang  of  the  day  she  was  precisely  up  to 
date.  Her  splendidly  healthy  body  enabled  her,  by 
mere  vitality,  to  enjoy  the  grand  air,  the  riding,  the 
exhilaration  of  bodily  adventure ;  she  had,  too,  an 
appreciation  of  scenery.  But  she  infinitely  preferred 
corsets  and  lace  underwear  to  flannels  and  freedom, 
a  city  bedroom  to  a  prairie  tent,  a  porcelain  bath 
to  a  mountain  stream,  people  to  prairies,  and  cards 
to  the  chase.  Moreover,  the  people  must  be  "  her 
sort,"  people  who  spoke  her  language,  talked  only 
about  each  other,  and  played,  with  jealous  heart 
burnings,  at  being  "  it."  It  would  be  hard  for  us, 
it  would  have  been  hard  even  for  them,  to  say  what 
"  it  "  was.  Dorothy  was  rapidly  coming  to  the  con 
clusion  that  "  it  "  was  largely  money  ;  certainly  one  of 
"  its  "  features  was  the  insolent  exclusion  of  all  others 
from  "  its  "  society ;  and  Dorothy  in  her  time  had 
lived  to  see  the  excluded  become  the  excluder — Mark- 
off,  for  instance — and,  awful  to  contemplate,  the  ex 
cluder  become  in  turn  the  excluded.  There  was  Mrs 
Malgam.  Well,  Jack  Malgam  had  not  been  very  rich, 
and  "  Baby  "  had  grown  middle-aged  and  fat.  If 
you  could  not  have  millions  of  your  own,  Dorothy 

403 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

clear-sightedly  observed,  or  were  not  unusually  clever, 
the  best  anchor  was  a  fashionable  love  affair ;  it  would 
have  been  well  enough  if  Malgam  had  not  died,  but 
when  he  had  done  so,  Holyoke  had  failed  to  marry 
her.  To  be  sure,  he  was  ten  years  younger ;  but  she 
had  kept  him  for  so  long !  And  now  she  committed 
the  blunder  of  openly  running  after  him.  Then,  even 
Arthur  Holyoke  (as  Dorothy  phrased  it  to  herself) 
was  not  a  real  swell.  The  Rastacqs,  Duvals,  Ein- 
steins,  Gansevoorts,  Gonzagas,  Marosinis,  were  the 
real  swells,  Dorothy  thought ;  the  beauty  of  them 
was,  as  Salisbury  said  of  the  Garter,  there  was  no 

d d  merit  about  them.    They  cared  nothing  about 

America  nor  for  being  American  citizens ;  they  lived 
in  palaces  of  European  model  and  moved  in  private 
cars  and  ocean  steamers  that  they  called  their  yachts, 
from  Newport  to  Aiken  or  the  Riviera,  stopping  only 
in  New  York  to  cut  their  coupons ;  more  secluded 
from  the  vulgar,  more  estranged  from  their  country's 
people  than  is  any  English  duke,  and  by  the  way  they 
were  the  only  people  that  could  always  marry  into 
the  English  peerage,  and  not  a  man  of  them  had  ever 
held  a  civic,  even  a  charitable,  office  since  first  (not 
usually  too  long  ago)  the  founder  of  their  fortunes 
in  New  York  began. 

Austin  was  dreadfully  bored  by  them.    As  Carlyle 
might  say,  he  could  not  feel  that  even  going  in  a 

404 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

private  car  justified,  as  an  end  of  life,  the  going  from 
one  idle  place  to  another  equally  empty  one — cer 
tainly  not  the  going  in  another  fellow's  private  car. 
The  great  houses  were  to  him  the  very  lair  of  ennui. 
No  books,  only  Barbizon  pictures ;  no  music  but 
Broadway  ballads  and  negro  melodies  composed  by 
theatrical  Jews ;  no  talk  but  of  the  sort  you  needed 
wade  through  in  galoshes  to  keep  your  very  feet 
clean.  Why  be  exclusive  when  there  is  so  little  to 
include?  But  exclusion,  in  America,  comes  high. 
If  you  would  avoid  the  people,  you  must  pay  for  it. 
And  poor  Dorothy  could  not  even  yet  afford  it. 
Had  she  married  Petrus  Gansevoort,  she  might  have 
had  it  from  the  start. 

So  one  fears  that  while  Austin,  expanding  his 
lungs  to  the  grand  air,  his  heart  to  the  great  people, 
of  the  West,  was  hopefully  scheming  how  they  might 
yet  model  their  lives  on  his  youthful  dreams,  Dor 
othy  was  scheming  to  bring  hers  to  a  practical  reality 
of  a  very  different  order.  Even  his  sanguine  re 
building  of  their  own  first  married  happiness  received 
a  shock.  "  We  must  dare  to  be  happy  and  dare  to 
confess  it,"  Miss  Ravenel  had  once  said  to  him.  And 
then,  she  had  quoted  Amiel :  "  To  be  patient,  sympa 
thetic,  tender,  to  hope  always,  like  God;  to  love 
always — this  is  duty."  Austin  tried  to  hope;  but 
the  light  of  springtime,  even  the  light  that  was  about 

405 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

them  in  that  Connecticut  River  trip  of  ten  years  ago, 
had  faded  from  the  sky. 

But  he  dared  to  be  happy.  Ah,  he  dared  to  be 
happy.  He  was  "  happy  in  faith."  The  yearning 
that  had  been  his  so  many  years — the  lonely  resigna 
tion  to  the  faith  that  this  was  all — the  suicide  of 
hope,  the  drugging  of  dreams,  the  blinding  of  eyes 
— poor  wistful  eyes,  "  tired  with  too  much  seeking 
of  their  love  on  earth  " — this  all  was  over.  No 
longer  had  he  to  shut  them  to  bar  out  his  visions — 
visions  of  the  face  i'  the  cloud,  the  face  i'  the  fire — 
the  Face  was  here,  here  beyond  the  nearest  twilight 
hill,  here  and  real  in  every  dell  of  gentle  forest.  Ah, 
he  was  happy  that  year.  I  suppose  the  Puritan  in 
him  should  have  told  his  conscience  that  he  had  no 
sense  of  sin ;  but  the  Catholic  Carolina  Pinckney  in 
him  knew  that  sin  this  could  not  be.  The  world,  his 
heart,  his  very  prayers  to  Heaven,  gave  him  emotional 
certitude.  He  was  doing  right ;  and  all  was  well  in 
the  world;  surely  God  would  not  poison  the  fount 
that  made  him  worship  God.  Yet  he  did  not  write 
to  her,  he  did  not  need  to  do  that ;  it  was  enough  that 
in  her  grace  she  had  him  given  leave. 

And  Dorothy,  too — if  the  early  glamour  had  been 
but  a  morning  mist — could,  in  the  noontide  of  life,  be 
a  sunny  companion.  She  had  never  been  shrewish  or 
sour:  and  now,  in  the  free  air  of  the  Rockies,  with 

406 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

her  splendid  health,  perhaps  even  a  little  touched  by 
his  renewed  devotion — she  was  a  most  pleasant  com 
panion.  It  was  not,  perhaps,  the  highest  human  rela 
tion — it  was  rather  as  if  he  were  adventuring,  in  some 
splendid  country,  with  a  merry  good  fellow — or,  at 
most,  a  pleasing  inamorata — chance,  at  their  jour 
ney's  end,  might  or  might  not  sever  the  relation — no 
hearts  at  risk  on  either  side.  Dorothy  dressed,  in  the 
daytime,  almost  like  a  boy,  a  Rosalind — long  soft 
leather  leggings,  an  open-throated  hunting  shirt, 
and  (to  the  bewilderment  of  the  conventionally 
minded  guides)  not  much  of  skirt. 

Austin  rather  had  wanted  scenery  and  voyage  life 
than  mere  hunting ;  they  had  begun  in  southern  Colo 
rado,  worked  by  the  Sangre  del  Cristo  range  to  the 
country  of  northern  New  Mexico ;  heading  in  a  gen 
eral  way  for  the  Grand  Canon  of  the  Colorado,  whose 
wonders  were  then  but  little  known.  But  one  after 
noon  (they  always  had  to  begin  camp  by  four 
o'clock),  armed,  of  course,  with  his  Winchester,  but 
otherwise  alone  (a  Winchester  is  company — any 
sportsman  will  well  know  what  I  mean),  he  struck 
the  trail  of  a  bear,  a  grizzly,  he  suspected — not  that 
he  could  tell  from  the  tracks,  but  it  was,  in  that 
country,  the  most  likely  kind.  The  trail  led  down 
the  mountain,  into  a  little  canon,  perhaps  only  some 
few  yards  wide  at  first,  and  full  of  raspberry  bushes 

407 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

and  the  fallen,  slippery  trunks  of  dead  sycamore 
trees.  He  could  now  hear  the  bear  crashing  ahead, 
and  Pinckney,  with  all  the  impulsiveness  of  his  early 
youth,  followed  after.  Pretty  soon  he  got  a  shot, 
and  then  another ;  but  their  only  effect  was  slightly 
to  accelerate  the  creature's  speed.  Now  and  then 
he  saw  traces  of  blood  upon  the  bushes  which  (per 
haps  somewhat  inconsequently)  encouraged  him  to 
go  on.  The  canon  was  now  considerably  deeper ;  and 
the  bear,  as  if  to  escape  from  it,  clambered  upon  the 
butt  end  of  a  huge  sycamore  which  lay,  its  branches 
pointing  downward,  so  high  that  they  appeared  to 
touch  the  rocky  ledge  that  bounded  the  canon  on  its 
higher  side. 

Austin  followed,  balancing  himself  upon  the 
peeled  and  slippery  trunk ;  this  was  easy  enough  at 
first,  but  became  harder  as  its  volume  narrowed. 
Finally,  he  had  to  sit  on  the  tree  trunk  astride ;  the 
bear,  too,  seemed  to  be  having  trouble  and  moved 
slower  and  slower.  Unexpectedly  to  Austin  it 
stopped;  the  strong  branches,  after  all,  did  not 
reach  to  the  little  cliff;  and,  to  Austin's  horror,  the 
grizzly  began  to  retrace  its  steps.  Austin,  sitting 
on  the  trunk  some  twenty  yeards  behind,  had  chosen 
that  moment  to  reload  his  Winchester. 

"  Stand  up !  "  called  a  voice  from  the  wall  behind 
him.  Austin  stood  up,  without  looking  around,  and 

408 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

fired  hastily  at  the  approaching  grizzly.  At  the 
same  moment  he  heard  a  second  rifle  shot,  and  the 
huge  creature,  clutching  a  moment  convulsively  at 
the  brittle,  silvery  twigs,  fell  with  a  heavy  crash  into 
the  bushes  beneath. 

"  Hope  you'll  pardon  me  intruding,"  said  the 
stranger,  with  the  usual  Western  burr  to  the  r,  but 
otherwise  in  perfect  English.  "  I  heard  your  shots 
and  thought  I'd  see  what  it  was.  Though  I  reckoned 
there  might  be  a  grizzly  in  the  canon,  and  it  ain't 
exactly  a  place  where  two  is  company  and  three  is 
none." 

"  I  am,  on  the  contrary,  deeply  in  your  debt.  It 
was  your  shot  killed  him ;  he  was  coming  on  too  fast 
for  my  inexperience." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  "  smiled  the  other.  "  Any 
how,  you'll  forgive  my  introducing  myself  too  soon. 
I  hate  to  interfere  with  any  gentleman's  shot."  (He 
pronounced  the  t  in  gentleman,  which  is  unusual  even 
with  the  educated  Westerner.)  "My  name's  Armi- 
tage.  I  call  myself  at  home  when  I'm  in  Michigan, 
but  it's  the  country  down  below  there  that  I've  tied 
up  to."  Mr  Armitage  indicated  vaguely  a  sweep  of 
the  horizon  that  might  include  anything  from  the 
San  Cristobal  Mountains  to  the  Pecos  River. 

WThen  a  man  has  just  saved  your  life  from  a 
grizzly,  it  is  customary,  even  in  temperance  circles, 

409 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to  invite  him  to  take  a  drink.  Pinckney  accordingly 
did  so,  declining  at  the  same  time  his  name  and 
qualities. 

"From  New  York,  are  you?  Well,  sir,  that 
comes  in  quite  handy.  I  was  just  about  wanting  to 
see  a  man  from  New  York.  Take  the  first  drink 
yourself ;  you  got  a  little  nearer  the  b'ar  than  I  did." 
For  Austin,  climbing  downward,  had  reached  the  base 
of  the  rock  on  which  the  other  stood.  Austin  laughed, 
and  half  filling  the  silver  cup  he  drained  it ;  then 
handed  cup  and  flask  to  the  other  as  he  scrambled  up 
the  scarp  of  the  little  cliff. 

"  You  must  come  to  dinner  with  us." 

"  Perhaps  you'd  like  to  have  me  help  you  skin 
that  there  grizzly." 

"  I  certainly  should,  particularly  as  I  don't  know 
how;  my  wife,  I  am  sure,  would  like  to  have  it,  if 
you'd  give  me  your  share — 

"  Oh,  it's  yours  all  right.  Is  your  wife  at  home 
in  New  York — 

"  No,  she's  here  in  camp,  and  you'll  meet  her  if 
you'll  come  to  dinner." 

"Great  Scott,  Mr  Pinckney!  I'll  go  skin  that 
b'ar  alone.  You  go  and  tell  her  you're  all  right. 
She'll  have  heard  the  shooting — 

"  She  won't  worry — she'll  think  it  was  a  prairie 
chicken — or  a  deer." 

410 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Five  shots  and  another  gun  ?  Why,  a  child 
would  know  it  was  a  b'ar —  No,  sir,  you  go  home. 
And  load  up  first — though  I  don't  think  the  mate's 
between  here  and  your  camp.  You  ain't  in  Wall 
Street." 

Carefully  reloading  his  own,  Mr  Armitage  made 
his  way  through  the  raspberries  to  where  the  bear 
lay,  unsheathing  a  formidable  hunting  knife  that  was 
at  his  belt. 

Pinckney  renewed  his  thanks  and  followed  the 
advice;  not  so  much  to  tranquilize  his  wife  as  to  tell 
her  of  their  unexpected  guest  and  suggest  some 
changes  in  her  apparel.  It  was  an  hour  before  Ar 
mitage  arrived,  lugging  the  bearskin ;  he  had  evi 
dently  washed  both  himself  and  it,  and  looked,  Aus 
tin  thought,  very  like  a  gentleman  indeed.  He  was 
evidently  much  struck,  and  afterwards  a  little  puz 
zled,  by  Dorothy ;  he  lent  only  a  courteous  atten 
tion  to  what  she  said,  but  Austin  noted  his  eyes  were 
straying  to  her  all  the  evening. 

Armitage,  it  turned  out,  had  lived  twenty  years 
in  the  West,  in  what  he  called  God's  country — a 
phrase  objectionably  suggestive  of  brass-band  Amer 
icans,  but  used  by  him  in  all  simplicity  to  indicate 
the  lofty  plains  that  stretch  from  the  Colorado  to 
the  cactus  barrens.  He  had  not  the  alleged  Western 
habit  of  asking  questions ;  but  it  developed  that 

411 


Pinckney  was  a  lawyer  and  that  they  were  heading, 
in  a  general  way,  for  the  Grand  Canon.  He  said 
nothing  that  night;  but  the  next  morning  (making, 
as  Dorothy  said,  his  dinner  call  like  a  civilized  being) 
he  diffidently  suggested  that  he  might  go  with  them 
thither.  He  mentioned  apologetically  that  he  had 
purchased  a  Spanish  grant  "  there  away  "  — also  that 
he  might  be  of  some  assistance  to  them  as  a  guide. 
Pinckney  was  more  than  willing;  grateful,  in  fact. 
Even  Dorothy  had  taken  rather  a  liking  to  him. 

His  "  little  grant  "  turned  out  to  be  a  tract  of 
land  about  the  size  of  Wales.  And  it  lay  along  a 
river  which,  rising  with  a  bed  level  with  the  surround 
ing  country,  ended,  somewhere  on  the  Rio  Grande, 
with  a  canon  almost  as  deep  as  the  Colorado  canon 
itself.  They  took  it — with  the  assistance  of  a  rail 
way,  leaving  their  outfit  in  camp — in  two  days  on 
the  way.  Armitage,  though  a  bachelor,  maintained 
a  most  comfortable  ranch ;  Dorothy  was  given  every 
thing  but  a  lady's  maid.  And  in  the  evening  he  devel 
oped  his  scheme. 

"You  know  Michigan  is  a  great  fruit  State. 
Well,  I  know  the  kind  of  country  it  will  grow  in— 
melons  and  plums  and  even  nectarines,  also  corn  and 
tobacco.  They're  the  most  profitable  crops.  Also, 
I  am  something  of  an  engineer,  and  I  surveyed  this 
tract  for  years  before  I  bought  it.  This  river  will 

412 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

irrigate  nearly  the  whole  of  it — all  the  mesa  and  bot 
tom  land.  There's  2,000  square  miles  in  the  tract, 
as  the  survey  calls.  The  irrigated  land  in  Colorado, 
Grand  River,  sells  at  $100  an  acre,  but  call  it  $10. 
At  500,000  acres  there's  $5,000,000." 

"How  much  will  it  cost  to  irrigate  it?" 
"  Permanently  and  well,  over  a  million  dollars. 
Then  there  should  be  a  repair  fund  to  produce 
$30,000  a  year,  say  half  a  million  more.  That's  the 
money  I'm  going  to  get  in  Wall  Street."  Like  all 
Western  men  Armitage  was  absolutely  confident  of 
his  fortunes  and  equally  convinced  that  Wall  Street 
would  look  at  them  in  the  same  light.  Austin 
forbore  to  disabuse  him — moreover,  the  enterprise 
seemed  really  a  genuine  one.  And  Armitage's  only 
terror  was  lest  Washington  should  hear  of  it  and 
hold  his  river  navigable.  That  would  mean  that  he 
must  get  an  Act  of  Congress.  And  that  would  mean 
a  hold  up  in  the  Senate.  The  senators,  he  explained, 
in  the  West,  were  used  to  getting  irrigable  lands  for 
themselves,  and  have  the  Government  pay  for  the 
irrigation. 

Farming  land  does  not  usually  strike  an  Ameri 
can  as  synonymous  with  wealth  beyond  the  dreams 
of  avarice.  Particularly  in  New  York  the  private 
capitalist  has  seen  too  much  money  go  out,  to  the 
West  and  South,  and  too  little  come  back.  No  rents, 

413 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

of  course,  are  collectible  from  agricultural  land ;  it 
is  contrary  to  the  American  spirit  to  pay  rent  for 
farms ;  while  even  the  business  men  in  towns,  across 
Missouri,  regard  rent  as  a  peculiarly  useless  form 
of  expenditure ;  and  mortgages,  of  course,  come 
home  to  roost.  So  reasoned  Austin,  and  suggested 
to  Armitage  to  try  a  nearer  centre — Chicago  or 
Boston,  where  not  so  many  thousand  schemes  were 
jostling  for  favor — or  even  London,  for  your  Eng 
lishman  is  bred  to  regard  real  estate  as  a  solid  invest 
ment  and  farming  a  remunerative  business,  nor  is  he 
feazed  by  the  remoteness  of  an  Arizona  valley,  all 
American  distances  being  alike  to  his  undeveloped 
imagination.  But  Armitage  was  firm  in  the  belief 
that  the  only  real  Money  Power  is  intrenched  in  Wall 
Street. 

"  As  I  understand  it,"  he  would  say,  "  we  are 
playing  a  great  national  game,  and  you  gentlemen 
in  New  York  hold  the  box  of  chips.  The  chips  are 
of  no  real  value  in  themselves,  but  we  can't  play  the 
game  without  them.  New  York  sits  swapping  chips 
on  a  commission,  and  the  rest  of  the  country  is  sweat 
ing  to  produce  intrinsic  value.  And  every  ten  or 
twenty  years  you  call  us  down,  and  we  have  to  cash 
our  values  in  chips."  Thus  Armitage  would  talk  un 
conscious  Ruskin,  while,  like  the  Ancient  Mariner, 
he  held  his  interlocutor  with  dreamy,  speculative  eye. 

414 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  The  Money  Power  "  — he  always  spoke  this  phrase 
in  capitals — "  is  there  and  we  have  got  to  kotow 
to  it." 

"  Wanting  a  little  of  the  same  yourself,"  smiled 
Austin. 

"  When  I  get  it,  I'll  buy  a  seat  in  the  United 
States  Senate  and  bust  up  that  whole  outfit,"  laughed 
the  other.  "  This  country's  been  governed  by  the 
clever  folks  too  long.  I'd  like  to  give  the  honest  fools 
a  chance." 

There  was  no  railway  to  the  canon  then ;  they 
rejoined  their  outfit  at  Flagstaff,  Arizona;  thence 
there  was  a  two  days'  ride  through  a  well-wooded 
plain,  the  San  Cristobal  Mountains  robed  from  peak 
to  plain  in  spotless  snow,  though  it  was  still  only 
October.  It  did  not  need  this,  however,  to  tell  them 
they  were  very  high :  the  air,  the  dry  hills,  the  deeply 
carved  water  courses,  the  look  of  the  atmosphere  bore 
witness  also.  Austin  was  wonderfully  exhilarated. 
He  mentally  resolved  that  if  ever  again  the  smirch 
of  the  city,  the  stain  and  the  sorrow  of  civilization, 
became  too  much  for  him,  he  would  know  where  to 
come  for  an  air  to  blow  it  all  away.  He  thought, 
too,  of  Miss  Ravenel — it  was  permitted  him  now 
to  think  of  her,  thank  God ! — in  the  differing  beauty, 
the  drowsy  summer  luxuriance  of  the  low-lying 
Laurel  valley.  He  did  not  need  to  write  to  her ;  he 

415 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

could  bear  even  not  to  see  her,  now  that  his  offense 
had  been  condoned.  There  was  joy  in  living  anywise, 
that  she  was  in  the  world.  The  desert  was  peopled 
for  him  with  a  dreaming  face. 

But  to  poor  Dorothy  the  desert  was  beginning 
to  be  lonely — or,  rather,  she  ceased  to  bear  well  its 
loneliness.  She  could  not  live  without  her  kind.  It 
were  hard  to  mention  any  one  of  her  acquaintances 
for  whom  she  cared  particularly ;  yet  collectively  they 
were  the  all  in  all.  There  was  hardly  a  woman  she 
liked,  there  certainly  was  not  a  man  she  loved — 
naturally  not  Markoff,  surely  not  Gansevoort,  while 
Van  Kull  had  been  a  girlish  fancy — yet  she  was  tired 
of  her  husband,  while  Armitage  was  to  her  as  if  he 
did  not  exist.  She  grew  petulant,  intolerant  of  the 
hardships  of  camp  life.  She  was  tired,  she  said,  of 
being  dirty. 

At  the  Grand  Canon,  some  New  York  newspapers 
that  she  found  seemed  to  finish  her.  Mrs  Gower  at 
Newport  was  giving  a  dinner  to  the  Duke  of  Gross- 
minster  ;  Jimmy  de  Witt,  it  was  rumored,  was  getting 
a  divorce.  Mr  Augustus  Markoff  had  completed  his 
marble  cottage  there  and  was  preparing  for  a  great 
housewarming,  a  cotillon  dinner  to  end  the  season. 
The  Duvals  had  opened  their  great  place  on  the 
Hudson  and  were  emphasizing  Pussy  de  Witt's  inno 
cence  by  entertaining  lavishly.  Dorothy  remembered 

416 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

that  Tony  Duval  and  Pussy  were  brother  and  sister. 
The  Einsteins  were  already  on  their  Long  Island 
demesne.  But  there  were  no  letters ;  letters  were  only 
to  meet  them  on  their  return,  at  Colorado  Springs. 
The  papers,  though  old  and  soiled  by  the  hotel  guests, 
were  too  fascinating  to  leave:  she  made  pretext  of  a 
headache,  and  Austin  rode  down  the  canon  alone. 

She  had  curtly  told  him,  from  her  bedroom,  that 
they  must  start  for  home  next  day.  And  for  those 
twelve  hours  the  man  permitted  himself  the  intoxica 
tion  of  his  dream.  Her  presence  was  with  him  in  the 
gulf  of  shimmering  color,  her  voice  in  the  rushing  of 
the  waters  at  its  base,  and,  as  he  rode  back  at  evening 
by  the  light  of  the  stars,  her  eyes  were  in  them,  too. 
It  was  very  late  when  he  got  back  to  the  little  hotel 
on  the  mighty  chasm's  brink ;  still  he  must  go  out 
upon  its  edge  again ;  he  could  not  bear  to  have  that 
day  come  to  its  end.  All  below  him  was  a  shimmering 
mist,  the  riot  of  color  paled  to  gray,  the  void  below 
looking  not  so  near  as  the  opposite  shore,  lit  light 
on  its  rim  by  the  moonlight,  fifteen  miles  across,  and 
yet  it  looked  to  him  as  near — as  near  as  Laurel  Run. 


417 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XLVII 

IT  grew  to  midnight — one  o'clock,  two  o'clock — 
then  he  went  in  and  wrote  his  letter.  It  was  a 
simple  letter  enough — any  man  might  have  written 
such  to  any  woman.  Like  the  majesty  outside,  the 
very  vastness  of  a  passion  may  bring  tranquillity. 

Yet  there  lay  in  his  words  some  subtle  suggestion 
of  great  joy.  Mary  Ravenel,  reading  it,  could  see 
that  the  man  was  happy.  It  was  the  first  time  he 
had  written  to  her.  The  letter  was  about  their 
travels ;  how  Dorothy  had  borne  it ;  a  word  or  two 
of  the  grizzly,  of  Armitage,  something  on  Western 
life  and  character,  a  paragraph  of  rapture  about 
the  Grand  Canon.  It  closed  with  a  question  or  two 
— "  Pray  tell  me  how  the  boycott  is  getting  on. 
When  are  you  coming  to  New  York?  "  He  only 
permitted  himself  four  pages.  He  folded  it,  en 
closed  it,  sealed  it,  wrote  the  address,  but  as  he  did  so, 
like  any  boy,  he  bent  down  to  the  little  white  square, 
and  upon  it,  again  and  again,  he  kissed  her  name. 

Well,  no  roof  could  be  borne  by  hirr  that  night. 
Again  he  went  out  upon  the  cliff.  The  dawn  was 
beginning.  What  did  it  matter? — she  would  never 
know — he  would  not  lose  the  ecstasy  of  the  night. 
His  side  of  the  chasm  was  in  gray  shadow,  but  the 

418 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Western  cliffs  already  flame  color.  He  no  longer 
argued  with  himself,  on  his  side  of  that  more  impas 
sable  gulf  that  separated  them,  that  it  was  not  love. 
But  all  love  is  one,  he  felt,  inextricably  blended,  body, 
heart,  and  soul,  in  a  triune  root:  the  body  even  no 
other  than  the  soul,  the  love  of  child,  of  wife — the 
love  of  her — no  other  than  the  love  of  God.  He 
would  not  deny  his  Lord.  There  was,  of  course,  no 
need  for  her  to  love  him,  too:  that  did  not  matter. 
By  this  time  the  sun  had  risen ;  its  fire  lit  up  even 
to  the  depths ;  below,  far  below  the  gray  and  scarlet 
rocks,  the  gorgeous-tinted  clays,  there  swam  in  the 
still  valley  an  isle  of  tender  green.  Such  a  still  islet 
in  the  flood  might  be  their  hour  of  meeting. 

He  posted  his  letter  there,  at  the  Grand  Canon. 
He  might  have  carried  it  with  him,  but  he  did  not 
dare.  Safe  in  the  little  mail  pouch,  it  was  beyond 
his  reach ;  he  could  not  destroy  it,  or  rewrite  it ;  it 
had  passed  into  the  hands  of  Fate. 

Austin  had  no  desire  to  stay  there  longer,  and 
that  afternoon  they  left.  Armitage  had  separated 
from  them  the  day  before.  They  rode  then  through 
a  forest  of  mighty  coniferce ;  now  already  these  have 
passed  through  the  pulp  mill.  They  came  to  a  Moqui 
village,  curious,  several-storied  structures  of  adobe, 
where  Dorothy  bought  Navajo  blankets — it  was  such 
a  pleasure,  she  said,  to  shop  again !  And  then  they 

419 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

got  upon  the  train.  At  Colorado  Springs  they  found 
their  letters  and  stayed  several  days — there  are  drives 
on  the  shoulder  of  the  Continental  backbone,  on  Chey 
enne  Mountain,  whence,  at  sunset,  you  may  see  the 
shadow  of  the  day  sweep  eastward,  swifter  than  the 
wind,  across  leagues  and  hundreds  of  leagues  of 
lowering,  billowing  prairie,  until,  in  your  imagina 
tion,  you  ride  with  it,  to  the  mighty  Mississippi,  to 
the  sea — you  fancy  the  Appalachians  as  but  foot 
hills  in  the  distance.  Dorothy  was  fascinated  to  find, 
in  the  hotel,  some  New  York  people  who,  she  felt 
sure,  were  getting  a  divorce.  One  of  them  she  knew ; 
another  she  knew  by  reputation,  and  the  young  man 
who  was  devoting  himself  to  her,  anticipating  the 
event.  She  was  in  no  hurry,  now ;  she  had  received 
her  mail,  and  in  it  the  hoped-for  Markoff  invitation : 
the  party  took  place  early  in  December,  and  people 
were  to  return  from  the  city  and  make  a  week  of  it. 
"  In  December,"  wrote  Markorf ,  "  we  can  do  what  we 
like."  The  invitation  was  not  formal.  She  told 
Austin  that  she  meant  to  go ;  and  he  was  very  angry. 
She  only  reiterated  her  resolve,  adding  that  he  need 
not  come  unless  he  liked. 

But  Austin  also  had  had  a  letter — and  it  was 
from  Miss  Ravenel.  Dorothy  was  never  curious 
about  her  husband's  letters.  He  took  it  away,  and 
read  it  alone.  He  counted  the  words — there  were 

420 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

four  hundred  and  sixty-three ;  very  soon,  one  may 
suspect,  he  had  them  all  by  heart.  It  was  mostly 
about  the  boycott ;  something  about  her  "  social 
reconciliation  "  parties.  They  had  been  a  greater 
success  this  second  year.  She  had  the  Havilands,  of 
course,  and  Freddy  Wiston,  and,  of  all  men,  Lucie 
Gower,  and,  among  the  women,  Mrs  Rastacq !  Each 
class,  she  wrote,  seemed  to  get  on  better  with  its  op 
posite  than  with  itself ;  her  great  ladies  had  been  per 
fect  with  the  young  men,  and  the  "  gentlemen," 
technically  so  called,  with  the  working  women ;  but 
the  corresponding  classes  would  not  mix.  "  I  have 
most  trouble  of  all  with  the  college  girls,"  she  wrote, 
"  from  Vassar  or  the  West — perhaps  I  have  not  been 
West  far  enough.  The  men  we  invited  are  of  quite 
the  same  station  as  these  girls'  fathers ;  yet  the  girls 
try  to  emphasize  every  little  social  difference,  when 
the  whole  spirit  of  our  plan  is  to  deny  its  reality !  I 
had  no  idea  there  was  so  much  good  in  Mrs  Rastacq. 
Freddy  and  Mr  Radnor  have  been  splendid." 

If  Austin  felt  any  heartburning  that  he  had  never 
been  invited  on  these  visits,  it  was  in  some  way  a  balm 
that  Miss  Ravenel  did  not  seem  to  think  it  needed 
explanation.  "  The  watch  situation  is  really  terri 
ble,"  she  wrote.  "  The  Trust  not  only  refuses  to  sell 
to  our  poor  Laurel  Run  people,  but  even  threatens 
to  boycott  any  dealer  to  whom  they  sell.  Our  last 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

agents — in  Baltimore,  Washington,  New  York — 
have  written  me  that  they  fear  they  must  give  up  the 
agency.  If  so,  the  twenty-two  families  that  lived  on 
Laurel  Run  for  near  a  hundred  years  must  be  ruined. 
They  know  no  other  trade.  Do  think  of  some  way 
to  help  them."  And  Austin  swore  to  himself  that 
he  would.  He  resolved  a  plan  even  of  going  to 
Laurel  Run — to  inform  himself  directly — but  no, 
he  must  not  go  to  Laurel  Run.  She  was  still  at 
Ravenel. 

Before,  however,  he  could  consider  this,  he  was 
occupied,  on  his  return,  by  a  greater  piece  of  busi 
ness.  Mr  Gresham  was  too  old  to  undertake  it,  and 
Radnor  had  to  be  away.  Markoff,  it  appeared,  said 
Radnor,  "  nosing  around,  Jewlike,  to  find  some  stuff 
that  people  would  buy,"  had  discovered,  in  London, 
a  thirst  for  brewing  properties.  It  was  his  Pandaric 
function  to  allay  this  thirst — and  line  his  own  pock 
ets.  New  York  was  too  big  a  field  to  tackle;  but 
on  coming  back  he  had  secured  an  option  on  the 
Springvale  breweries,  the  largest  in  the  East.  The 
option  was  for  $10,000,000.  The  present  owners 
took  their  price,  part  in  bonds  and  part  in  cash. 
The  preferred  stock  necessary  for  the  balance  was 
already  sold  in  London.  The  common  stock  was 
retained  by  Markoff,  and  for  other  "  founders' ' 
shares.  But  the  British  investor,  docile  as  a  child 

422 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

up  to  this  point,  insisted  on  careful  inventories,  de 
scriptions,  and  the  appraisement  and  certification  by 
three  expert  brewers  that  the  properties  acquired 
were  worth  £2,000,000.  Markoff,  representing  the 
vendors,  could  not  act.  Their  client,  the  Miners' 
Bank,  represented  the  purchasers ;  so  they  were 
called  upon  to  fill  the  gap. 

It  happened  that  the  business  came  to  a  head  the 
very  week  before  Markoff's  housewarming.  Great 
doings  were  to  be  had  on  that  occasion ;  he  had  char 
tered  a  Sound  steamer  to  bring  his  guests  on  from 
New  York ;  also  a  comic-opera  company ;  and  they 
were  to  have  a  performance  on  the  boat.  There  were 
only  twoscore  guests,  equally  divided  between  men 
and  women ;  there  were  more  than  this  number  in  the 
comic-opera  company,  but  they  were  mostly  girls. 
And  Dorothy  was  perfectly  determined  to  go  on 
this  way. 

Austin  went  away  to  Springvale.  His  old  law- 
school  friend  Wentworth  now  lived  in  that  city,  and 
Austin  had  put  the  preliminary  matters  in  his  hands. 
He  had  supposed  it  would  be  an  easy  enough  affair 
to  get  the  appraisement  done,  and  hoped  to  return 
to  New  York  the  same  evening.  But  he  found  the 
brewers  of  Springvale  singularly  shy.  One  was  out 
of  business,  a  second  was  "  interested,"  a  third 
plumply  refused  to  act.  A  fourth  was  a  competitor, 

423 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

but  for  that  reason  would  not  "  spoil  his  rival's  bar 
gain."  Austin  thought  this  singularly  high-minded. 
He  spent  his  day  in  the  vain  search  and  then  went 
back  to  Wentworth's  office. 

"  It  is  being  borne  in  upon  me  that  the  brewers 
of  Springvale  are  a  singularly  modest  or  else  a  sin 
gularly  honest  lot  of  men,"  said  he,  as  he  threw  him 
self  wearily  into  a  chair. 

"  I  was  coming  to  that  same  conclusion  myself," 
laughed  Wentworth.  "  You  must  telegraph  Mark- 
off,  and  spend  the  night  with  me." 

It  was  delightful  to  see  old  Wentworth  again. 
Despite  his  peaceful  life,  Austin  fancied  that  he 
looked  older  than  himself;  he  certainly  had  more 
prominent  pounds  about  the  waist.  He  did  not  live 
in  the  city,  but  had  a  country  place  at  a  beautiful 
college  town  some  ten  miles  off.  "  It  is  not  as  big  as 
Harvard,  but  we  think  it  does  good  work,"  said  he. 
"  And  I  want  you  to  see  our  lovely  country." 

The  country  was  lovely:  and  in  the  quadrangles 
of  the  old  colleges  it  seemed  indeed  that  one  might 
live  in  peace.  Below  them,  in  the  broad  intervale, 
meandered  the  quiet  river;  two  gently  undulating 
mountains  lay  to  the  north;  and  on  a  grassy  knoll 
the  college  buildings  stood,  venerable  in  their  ivy  and 
quiet  crimson  brick.  Copied  evidently  from  the 
parent  Yale  or  Harvard,  it  seemed  still  dedicated  to 

424 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  early,  simpler  life.  "  Go  out  thenceforth  in  wis 
dom  :  for  in  her  gates  is  peace." 

Lovely,  too,  was  Wentworth's  wife ;  Austin  had 
never  seen  her  before,  for  Wentworth,  when  he  was 
married — not  so  many  years  since — had  been  too 
modest  to  send  him  her  portrait;  and  Austin  (he  felt 
ashamed  to  remember)  had  been  too  busy  to  leave 
New  York  for  the  wedding.  He  had  sent,  with  his 
excuses,  a  Wyant  picture,  which  now  formed  the 
principal  ornament  of  Mrs  Wentworth's  parlor.  It 
was  distinctively  her  parlor ;  full  of  signs  of  a  fem 
inine  presence,  plentiful  in  flowers ;  Wentworth's 
library  was  in  another  wing  "  away  from  the  racket 
of  the  children,"  three  of  whom  came  in  to  the  early 
dinner,  and  did  not  seem  to  be  so  afraid  of  their 
father  as  this  speech  would  indicate.  The  house  was 
spacious  and  full  of  dignity  ;  the  gardens,  Mrs  Went 
worth's  special  pride,  he  could  even  then  see,  would 
be  lovely  in  the  summer. 

The  two  old  friends  sat  up  late  at  night,  talking. 
Austin's  heart  was  sore ;  Dorothy  and  he  again  had 
had  an  altercation,  when  he  had  left  that  morning, 
still  about  Markoff's  party.  She  had  even  threatened 
him  with  divorce.  The  novelty  of  confidence,  the 
sympathy  of  their  boyhood's  friendship,  almost  broke 
Austin  down.  He  spoke  quite  frankly.  He  did  not 
recognize  divorce — no  South  Carolinian  could — but 
23  425 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

he  did  not  know  that  he  could  bear  to  go  on.  His 
old  friend  was  deeply  distressed ;  yet  took  it  gravely, 
not  seeking  to  minimize  matters.  This,  indeed,  would 
have  closed  poor  Austin's  lips  at  once.  He  told  him 
of  the  summer,  of  his  effort  at  reconciliation. 

"  I  am  sure  you  love  her  still,"  said  Wentworth. 
"  When  she  is  older,  her  true  self  will  return  again. 
It  is  a  pity  you  have  no  children." 

Both  men  were  silent  some  minutes.  Then  Went 
worth  spoke,  in  a  low  voice.  "  She  was  very  lovely. 
Did  you  know,  I  loved  her  once?  " 

"You?" 

"  Forgive  me,  but  that  was  why  I  would  not  go 
with  you  to  New  York." 

Coming  to  Wentworth's  office  next  morning,  they 
found  Markoff  already  sitting  there,  like  a  fat,  black 
spider  with  his  legs  drawn  under  him.  "  What's  all 
this  nonsense?  "  said  he. 

Austin  briefly  recounted  what  had  occurred. 

"  Of  course  you  know  this  appraisement  is  a  mere 
formality." 

"  My  instructions  from  London  are  to  have  it 
made." 

Markoff  took  another  tack.  "  A  brewery  is  not 
to  be  appraised  as  so  much  land,  so  many  coils  of 
copper  pipe.  You  remember  what  Dr  Johnson  said 
to  the  buyers  at  the  auction  of  Mrs  Thrale's  brewery? 

426 


L ... .,;:_  ':.'.... 

"Like  a  fat,   black  spider  with  his  legs  drawn  under  him." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

They  are  crazy  for  the  stock  in  London.  They  know 
well  enough  what  they  are  buying — not  a  mere  brew 
ery — but  '  the  potentiality  of  wealth  beyond  the 
dreams  of  avarice.'  ' 

"  I  am  willing  to  appraise  it  at  that,  if  you  like," 
laughed  Austin. 

"  You  know  what  Englishmen  are  like — they 
must  have  a  tin  box  full  of  flourished  handwriting, 
tied  up  and  sealed,  with  plenty  of  pink  ribbon — if 
they  get  that,  they  don't  care  how  much  they  are 
swindled." 

"  I  know  one  man  who  may  consent  to  serve," 
said  Wentworth,  intervening.  "  He  is  the  only  brewer 
not  taken  into  the  Trust." 

"  Well,  go  get  him,"  grunted  Markoff,  as  he 
buried  himself  in  the  morning  paper. 

All  that  day  Wentworth  and  Austin  were  en 
gaged  in  fruitless  search,  coining  back  to  the  office, 
from  time  to  time,  to  report;  and  all  that  day  sat 
Markoff  burying  his  nose  in  the  New  York  papers, 
an  expression  of  increasing  disgust  upon  his  coun 
tenance.  He  would  look  pityingly  at  his  classmates 
when  they  entered,  as  one  who  sees  a  bungler  who 
has  missed  his  vocation.  Finally  he  gave  up  even 
pity,  but  sat  upon  a  stool,  his  short  legs  curled  be 
neath  him,  the  very  image  of  utter  boredom.  Austin 
was  amazed  at  his  patience;  but  he  thought  of  the 

427 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Newport  palace  and  reflected  that  that  was  the  way 
his  millions  had  been  made.  In  the  afternoon  Went- 
worth  reported  that  even  the  outside  brewer  had 
declined  to  serve.  Markoff,  however,  took  his  name 
and  address. 

"  Nothing  remains  but  to  cable  for  further  in 
structions,"  said  Austin. 

"  Oh,  well,  wait  till  to-morrow."  They  went  back 
to  New  York  in  the  train  together.  How  could  Aus 
tin  refuse  to  dine  with  a  man  he  was  going  to  visit? 
And  it  was  Markoff  who  told  him  that  Dorothy  had 
promised  to  come,  definitely,  by  the  boat.  When  they 
had  had  their  altercation,  it  was  already  no  open 
question.  Of  course,  Austin  decided  to  come,  too. 
They  dined  at  Delmonico's.  Markoff  had  become 
the  man  of  fashion  again  ;  it  was  as  if  he  had  never 
heard  of  the  Springvale  breweries.  But  the  day  be 
fore  the  party,  Gresham  received  a  cable  from  London 
saying  that  the  brewery  affairs  had  been  placed  in  the 
hands  of  another  firm.  And  when,  on  the  completion 
of  the  flotation,  the  issue  was  announced  in  the  news 
papers,  Austin  observed  that  the  amount  was  now 
placed  at  twelve  millions  instead  of  ten ;  and  first  on 
the  list  of  appraisers  was  the  recalcitrant  outside 
brewer.  And  a  few  months  later  his  property  also 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Trust. 


428 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


XLVIII 

THE  opera  on  the  boat  was  not  so  much  of  a 
success,  perhaps,  as  the  novelty  of  the  imagi 
nation  deserved.  True,  the  after  saloon  was  carefully 
curtained  off  from  the  rest  of  the  steamer,  the  chorus 
girls  screened  from  the  scrutiny  of  grinning  deck 
hands,  the  gallery  hung  with  Turkey  carpets ;  and 
trained  footmen  replaced  the  wonted  darkies  in  at 
tendance.  In  spite  of  all,  the  opera  girls  had  a  bad  case 
of  stage  fright.  The  sea  was  perfectly  calm ;  never 
theless  the  prima  donna  (French)  chose  to  be  seasick. 
The  audience,  small  in  number  but  brilliant  in  quality, 
did  their  best  to  reassure  them;  they  sat  very  close 
and  applauded  enthusiastically.  It  had  been  a 
mooted  question  how  to  dress ;  low  gowns  seemed 
unusual  on  a  steamboat ;  but  it  was  finally  decided 
that,  the  occasion  being  extraordinary,  the  dresses 
should  be  extraordinary  too.  So  low  gowns  were 
worn ;  not  indeed  so  low  as  were  reserved  for  the 
grand  occasion  on  the  following  night,  but  low 
enough  to  put  the  chorus  girls  in  countenance.  One 
pretty  show  girl  in  particular — she  came  of  a  re 
spectable  family  in  Detroit,  and  had  sought  New 
York  fired  with  the  ambition  and  romance  of  the 
stage,  had  there  been  promptly  engaged  by  Saiman 

429 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Lohmann,  but  had  done  nothing  now  for  two  years 
but  wear  abbreviated  dresses — was  encouraged  by 
Mr  Van  Kull  to  be  taken  down  in  the  entr'acte  and 
introduced  to  the  company.  The  combination  of  her 
shapely  legs  and  Pussy  de  Witt's  celebrated  arms 
and  neck  was,  as  they  stood  side  by  side,  most  pi 
quant.  The  chorus  girl  appeared  the  more  modest 
of  the  two.  Her  one  ambition  was  to  get  a  speaking 
part  and  be  allowed  to  resume  her  skirts,  she  said. 
But  the  play,  as  a  play,  dragged,  and  all  were  glad 
when  it  was  bedtime.  It  was  far  too  cold  to  go  on 
deck,  and  the  guests  all  went  to  their  respective  state 
rooms. 

The  next  night,  however,  it  was  different.  Then 
the  play  was  given  on  the  stage  at  the  end  of  the 
great  ballroom ;  the  elevated  platform,  the  orchestra, 
separated  the  players  from  the  greater  folk;  they 
were  more  in  their  element,  while  the  brilliancy  of 
the  lights,  the  white  and  gold  and  crimson  damask 
of  the  room,  set  off  more  effectively  the  really  won 
derful  dresses.  This  time  no  chorus  girl  was  allowed 
to  mingle  with  the  company ;  it  seems  that  the  night 
before  had  caused  a  jealousy  behind  the  curtain  al 
most  amounting  to  a  strike;  moreover,  it  had  come 
to  Mrs  de  Witt's  ears  that  some  of  the  young  unmar 
ried  girls  had  objected.  Mrs  de  Witt  was  openly  in 
charge  of  all  the  arrangements,  frankly  acting  as 

430 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Markoff's  hostess ;  but  it  was  hardly  believed  that 
she  meant  to  marry  him.  There  were  a  few  young 
girls  asked,  and  it  was  commonly  understood  that 
Markoff  meant  to  take  his  pick  of  these. 

The  probable  composition  of  the  party  had  been 
a  subject  of  enthralling  interest  to  the  guests,  among 
them  Dorothy.  Bets  were  made  as  to  whether  Mark- 
off  would  persuade  Mrs  Gower,  Mrs  Rastacq,  Pete 
Gansevoort.  It  was  well  understood  to  be  Markoff's 
bold  bid  for  entrance  among  the  very  holy  of  holies ; 
he  had  a  puissant  champion  in  Pussy  de  Witt ;  on  the 
other  hand,  Mrs  Rastacq  had  never  recognized  him, 
and  Pete  Gansevoort  was  supposed  to  have  black 
balled  him  for  the  "Millionaires'  Club."  Then  he 
could  hardly  avoid  asking  Mrs  Malgam,  for  she,  first 
of  all  New  York,  had  allowed  him  to  enter  her  house ; 
but  she  never  went  anywhere  now  without  Jimmy  de 
Witt,  and  Markoff,  of  course,  could  not  ask  him  to 
meet  his  wife,  so  there  was  a  difficulty.  Then  he  had 
himself  thought  Gansevoort  and  Dorothy  rather  an 
impossible  combination,  and  there  was  another;  and 
he  wanted  Dorothy.  But  at  this  Pussy  only  laughed 
aloud.  It  added  spice,  she  said ;  moreover,  it  would 
be  fun  to  see  how  Peter  the  Great  would  behave. 

And  then  Pussy  de  Witt  good  naturedly  told 
Dorothy  that  Gansevoort  was  coming.  "  You  know, 
my  dear,  Markoff  must  have  him ;  after  all,  he  stands 

431 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

at  the  head.  Besides,  any  girl  will  go  to  a  house 
where  he  is,  and  Markoff  must  have  a  few  unmarried 
girls — really  nice  girls,  I  mean.  The  girl  Gansevoort 
selects  will  be  the  admitted  queen  of  American  society 
— at  least  among  the  younger  set — and  perhaps  our 
little  Jew  may  catch  her  '  runner  up  '  on  the  re 
bound  !  "  Pussy  de  Witt  did  not  pretend  to  have 
any  illusions  about  Markoff;  she  was  simply,  as  she 
would  have  said,  "  out  for  a  good  time  " ;  and  Dor 
othy  had  replied  that  she  had  not  the  least  objection 
to  meeting  Mr  Gansevoort.  (Indeed,  it  was  long 
since  she  had  openly  admitted  to  herself  her  regret. 
At  that  time  she  had  not  realized  his  grandeur.  Aus 
tin  had,  in  a  way,  taken  advantage  of  her  youth.) 

But  the  bettors  were  all  astounded  at  the  party 
as  ultimately  made  up.  To  begin  with,  Mrs  Gower 
declined,  intimating  that  it  bored  her  to  go  to  other 
people's  houses.  But  both  Pete  Gansevoort  and 
Mamie  Rastacq  accepted.  Altogether,  the  company 
was  of  the  very  best  (Pussy  told  Dorothy)  ;  there 
were  absolutely  no  poky,  dingy  people;  everyone 
knew  that  a  man  like  Markoff  would  have  to  be  very 
particular  whom  he  asked,  and  was  anxious  to  come 
accordingly.  No  party  is  so  smart  as  that  given  by 
an  outsider.  Dorothy  had  been  rather  nettled  at 
Mrs  de  Witt's  assured  confidence  in  her  own  accep 
tance.  After  all,  she  was  but  an  attorney's  wife.  It 

432 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

did  not  make  things  better  that  she  was  still  the  pret 
tiest  woman  there.  Van  Kull  told  her  so,  and,  more 
over,  that  even  Gansevoort  had  said  so,  in  the  smoking 
room;  Dorothy  blushed  with  pleasure.  But  it  was 
not  a  position,  to  be  asked  because  she  was  pretty; 
Gansevoort's  wife  could  afford  to  be  plain ! 

Her  position  had  been  good ;  she  had  been  received 
among  them ;  but  she  had  never  taken  part  as  one  of 
the  inner  score  before.  Really,  these  were  all  people 
that  would  go  to  Gansevoort's  own  house,  except 
Markoff  himself,  perhaps,  and  Mrs  Malgam  and 
themselves.  Dorothy  was  intoxicated  by  the  expe 
rience,  and  by  its  luxury. 

For  Markoff's  palace  was  really  the  most  perfect 
thing  of  its  kind  in  America.  Not  too  large,  with 
every  modern  fancy  and  convenience,  its  fittings  and 
tapestries,  ceilings  and  bibelots,  were  of  the  best  that 
the  eighteenth  century  could  do.  The  dinner,  of 
twenty-four,  had  been  splendid;  the  daring  little 
operetta  (the  prima  donna  sang  in  French)  an  amus 
ing  respite ;  but  the  real  night  began  after  the  ball 
room  was  deserted,  the  band  had  gone,  the  singers 
and  chorus  girls  packed  in  their  special  train  to 
New  York. 

Out  of  Markoff's  private  library — which  was 
furnished  with  a  "  ticker  "  giving  the  latest  quota 
tions  and  sporting  news,  a  private  wire  to  New  York, 
29  433 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  pretty  stenographer,  and  telegraph  blanks — came 
the  card  room.  If  unfortunate  at  bridge  you  could 
go  into  the  next  room  and  recoup  on  stocks.  Bridge 
was  a  new  game  then ;  but  Dorothy  had  spent  some 
weeks  of  preparation  in  earnest  study.  No  play  was 
allowed  except  for  money ;  but  the  pretty  stenog 
rapher,  their  host  informed  them,  was  a  banker  and 
would  cash  their  checks.  And  Dorothy  actually 
found  herself  at  the  table  with  Pete  Gansevoort  and 
Tony  Duval,  of  the  Jockey  Club. 

She  had  not  maneuvered  against  this  meeting. 
Yet  it  was  no  case,  she  felt,  for  maidenly  reserve. 
She  owed  him — more  than  an  apology.  She  had 
seized  every  occasion  to  edge  toward  his  chair. 
Whenever  Gansevoort  looked  up,  he  found  her  soft 
eyes  fixed  on  his.  Their  expression  was  tragic,  pa 
thetic  ;  she  never  ventured  on  a  smile  yet.  But  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  to  her  life  that  all  the 
Gansevoorts  should  be  placated.  She  had  got  into 
the  inner  circle  at  last — where  she  realized  their 
power. 

Austin,  on  the  other  hand,  avoided  Mamie  Ras- 
tacq.  It  was  incredible  to  him  that  she  had  been  at 
Ravenel — and  the  horror  of  that  night  at  Lenox, 
years  before,  came  back  to  him — a  horror  long  for 
gotten  ;  for  he  had,  as  it  were,  been  shriven  since. 
But  only  he  knew  that.  And  if  she  were  to  talk  of 

434 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

him,  to  speak  of  him,  as  she  must  have  thought  him 
then — to  her 

But  again  he  misconceived  poor  Mamie.  She  met 
him  frankly  on  the  marble  terrace,  the  afternoon  of 
their  arrival,  and  put  out  her  hand.  "  Haven't  I 
been  Christianlike  ?  " — and  when  Austin,  puzzled, 
looked  at  her :  "  Why,  any  woman  can  forgive  the 
first  kiss  taken,  but  it  takes  a  Christian  to  forgive 
the  second,  that  was  not  taken  !  "  There  was  not  the 
faintest  shadow  in  her  laughing  eyes.  Nor  yet  was 
her  laugh  one  of  flirtation.  "  Come,  if  you  like,  we 
were  both  very  wicked,  only  I  warned  you,  I  did  it 
for  fun." 

Austin  demurred. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  did  it.  I'd  tell  anyone  I  did  it.  You 
were  not  to  blame.  But  now,  I've  come  to  be  a  friend. 
You  know,  I'm  giving  up  this  sort  of  thing.  I've 
come  only  on  your  account.  Well,  your  wife's, 
then."  Her  tone,  still  superficially  light,  had  quite 
changed  in  manner.  Austin  still  said  nothing. 

"  You  know,  I've  been  her  friend — perhaps  her 
best  friend  in  New  York — except  the  Major." 

"You  know  dear  old  Brandon,  then?" 

"  Gervaise  and  I  are  old  friends — he  was  a  pal 
of — of  Lionel  Derwent's  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
And  you  and  Dorothy  are  nearer  than  children  to 
him." 

435 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  know,"  said  Austin  sadly. 

"  Do  you  play  bridge?    You  must  play  to-night." 


The  play  began,  after  supper  and  some  dancing, 
about  three  in  the  morning.  At  the  table  with  Aus 
tin  were  Mamie  and  Mrs  Malgam,  and  Markoff  him 
self.  Sometimes  Arthur  Holyoke  would  come  in,  as 
a  fifth  hand ;  Baby  Malgam  was  trying  to  make  him 
jealous  of  Markoff.  The  odd  man  usually  went  out 
and  smoked  a  cigar ;  cigarettes  only  were  allowed  in 
the  room.  But  the  odor  of  stale  cigarettes,  even  on 
ladies'  lips,  is  more  sickening  than  that  of  cigar 
smoke ;  and  Austin  thought  it  blended  horribly  with 
the  odor  of  great  masses  of  roses  that  stood,  in  huge 
china  vases,  on  every  window  sill.  At  five  the  men 
began  to  drink  whisky  and  soda  instead  of  cham 
pagne,  and  a  few  of  the  ladies  to  sip  the  latter.  He 
rose,  once  and  again,  to  go,  but  Mrs  Rastacq  would 
never  let  him.  "  Stay,  stay  ;  you  are  no  quitter — 

Poor  Austin  was  ecceure — positively  heartsick 
with  it  all.  His  wife  was  at  the  next  table,  a  gleam 
in  her  eyes  that  even  he  had  never  seen ;  he  saw  her 
light  a  cigarette,  and  twice  she  came  and  asked  him 
for  money.  She  was  at  Petrus  Gansevoort's  table, 
and  what — what  now — could  he  do?  Mrs  Malgam, 
his  own  vis-a-vis,  lighted  one  cigarette  with  another 

436 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

and  studied  the  score  intently  ;  she  would  allow  no  one 
to  keep  it  but  herself.  Early  in  the  morning  Austin 
even  thought  her  affected  by  the  champagne  she 
had  taken. 

The  scene,  to  him,  was  a  horrible  one.  The  bare, 
underlying  nature  of  these  women  seemed  exposed; 
only  Mamie  Rastacq  (who  nevertheless  would  not 
go)  looked  still  like  a  lady  and  bore  herself  as  if 
above  it  all.  Indeed,  they  had  a  word  about  it  to 
gether.  "  We  are  mostly  common  stuff — it  is  the 
time  to  see  what  a  woman  really  is.  The  veneer  of 
refinement  doesn't  wear— through  the  night.  The 
cynics  know  it — look  at  Kill  Van  Kull.  Look  at  that 
young  girl,  reaching  out.  After  all,  her  complexion 
can  stand  it."  It  was  true,  but  there  were  dark  rings 
under  her  eyes.  The  girl  was  studying  the  score. 
Mamie  went  on : 

"  It  makes  one  feel  that  there's  no  difference  be 
tween  us  and  the  chorus  girls  or  washerwomen.  You 
men  stand  it  better — but  you  are  trained  to  be  gen 
tlemen,  even  in  your  vices.  Look,  is  that  the  dawn?  " 

It  certainly  was,  and  footmen  were  called  to  shut 
it  out.  A  dozen  of  them  came  in  and  did  their  work 
deftly,  respectfully,  looking  carefully  away  from  the 
gentlemen  and  ladies.  Two  or  three  of  the  former 
were  plainly  drunk.  Baby  Malgam  was  in  real  dis 
tress  ;  beads  of  perspiration  were  on  her  forehead ; 

437 


she  had  lost  a  thousand  dollars ;  the  blood  had  re 
treated  from  her  white  skin  and  left  two  patches  of 
rouge  exposed ;  her  gown  slipped  on  one  shoulder  as 
she  dealt  the  cards;  she  did  not  readjust  it  until  the 
deal  was  over. 

Suddenly  the  folding  doors  were  thrown  open, 
and  there  came  in  a  flood  of  winter  sunshine  from 
the  snow  beyond  the  terraces.  The  women  fled  with 
shrieks.  "  It  is  eight  o'clock,"  said  Mrs  de  Witt, 
"  and  time  to  go  to  bed."  The  men  laughed  and 
remained  to  calculate  the  scores.  Austin  followed 
his  wife  to  her  room.  His  own  was  at  the  other  end 
of  the  building — men  together,  women  together — 
on  every  door  was  a  little  card. 

"  Dorothy,  I  can't  stand  this ;  I'm  going  away," 
said  Austin. 

Dorothy  compressed  her  lips  to  a  pale  line.  "  Oh, 
why  did  you  ever  marry  me  ?  "  She  spoke  only  petu 
lantly.  "  Why  don't  you  get  a  divorce  ?  "  She  threw 
herself  down  on  the  bed  without  undressing,  careless, 
apparently,  even  of  crushing  her  delicate  dress.  He 
made  a  motion  to  kneel  at  her  side ;  she  rang  the  elec 
tric  bell  by  the  bed,  and  he  checked  himself. 

'  You  do  not  know  what  you  are  saying —  He 
spoke  in  stifled  tones. 

"  I  know  very  well — if  you  don't  like  me  or  my 
friends  you  have  only  to  go  away.  Here  comes  the 

438 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

maid.  Unlace  me,  Mclanie —  The  last  words  were 
spoken  to  the  servant,  but  in  quite  the  same  indiffer 
ent  tone.  But  Austin  saw  that  red  spots  had  now 
come  in  her  cheeks,  making  less  visible  the  dark  rings 
under  the  eyes ;  as  he  looked,  she  buried  her  face  in 
the  pillow,  either  to  avoid  him  or  to  help  Melanie, 
who  now,  imperturbably,  began  cutting  the  lacing  at 
the  back  of  her  gown !  "  Oh,  go  away !  "  she  said 
again. 

Austin  turned  without  another  word  and  left  her. 


XLIX 

BELATED  members  of  the  house  party  were 
still  coming  up  the  stairs  as  he  came  down 
the  corridor,  although  the  sun  was  now  streaming 
broadly  through  all  the  windows.  The  young  girls 
were  the  last  to  come  up,  and  with  them,  of  course, 
their  titular  chaperon,  Mamie  Rastacq.  "  They  say 
there  is  snow  enough  for  sleighing,"  he  heard  one 
of  them  say.  "  He  can't  have  expected  it — 

"  There  are  sleighs  in  the  stable,  I  know,"  said 
Killian  Van  Kull.  "  Won't  you  come?  Come  now — 
just  before  breakfast."  But  Mamie  was  driving  her 
brood  along  like  a  hen  her  chickens. 

"  In  a  ball  dress,  indeed !    Trot  along,  girls — it's 
439 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

nearly  church  time.  Good  night,  Mr  Van  Kull." 
The  young  girl  who  had  spoken  of  the  snow  now  cast 
a  glance  over  her  shoulder,  which  Van  Kull's  prac 
tised  eye  was  waiting  to  receive :  then  he  retreated 
toward  the  billiard  room.  There  was  a  noise  of 
closing  doors  and  skurrying  maids.  As  if  at  a  signal 
the  footmen  had  all  disappeared;  not  a  male  thing 
was  visible ;  a  score  of  dainty-ribboned  abigails,  look 
ing  as  if  fresh  from  sleep,  were  cleaning,  dusting, 
carrying  away  the  evidences  of  the  night's  pleasure. 
The  other  men  did  not  seem  to  have  taken  pains  to 
escort  their  wives  upstairs,  and  Austin,  left  alone  in 
the  ladies'  wing,  was  yet  detained  a  moment  by  Mamie 
as  he  passed  hurriedly  by. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Mr  Pinckney  ?  Was  the 
bridge  too  much  for  you — or  aren't  you  a  good  loser? 
You  look — well,  worse  than  any  of  us,  Baby  always 
barred — 

He  made  some  murmur  of  dissent ;  she  stood  with 
her  hand  on  the  door  knob  of  her  room,  looking  at 
him  intently,  not  roguishly ;  she  spoke  as  one  of  two 
between  whom  all  nonsense  had  disappeared. 

"  Meet  me  on  the  terrace  at  church  time — perhaps 
you'll  take  me  there — 

"  I  am  not  going  to  church,"  said  Austin.  "  I 
am  going  back  to  New  York." 

"  Then  you  must  certainly  see  me  first.  I  have 
440 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

something  to  say  to  you.  Order  a  sleigh  and  tak£ 
me  sleighing.  I'll  meet  you  in  half  an  hour.  Any 
how,  you  know,  there's  no  train  back  to-day.  I'll 
run  and  tell  Dorothy  we  are  going." 

Austin  was  not  in  a  position  to  refuse  such  an 
invitation  from  Mrs  Rastacq.  Nor,  on  the  whole, 
was  there  anyone  he  would  rather  see.  Somehow  he 
felt  that  Mamie  was  the  best  physician  for  his  case ; 
and  of  her  kindliness  he  was  now  assured.  He  there 
fore  promised  to  meet  her  as  soon  as  he  could  and 
hurried  to  his  room,  where  he  plunged  at  once  into 
the  coldest  bath  the  man  could  draw,  then  called  for 
coffee  and  ordered  his  sleigh.  Quick  as  he  was,  he 
found  Mamie,  fresh  and  rosy  and  swathed  in  snugly 
fitting  furs,  walking  on  the  terrace  waiting  for  him. 

"And  now,"  said  she,  "what's  the  matter?  I'll 
be  a  mother  confessor — better  still,  a  sister  to  you. 
You  know,  I  was  in  love  with  you  once.  Perhaps  I 
would  be  still — -only  since  then  I've  experienced — 

"Religion,  perhaps?  Or  found  me  out?"  The 
man  spoke  bitterly. 

"  No,  not  religion.  And  I've  found —  But  you 
must  talk  of  yourself.  And  you  can  tell  me  all  the 
truth.  They  say,  the  greatest  happiness  of  being 
with  the  woman  that  you  love  is  that  you  can  speak 
all  the  truth  to  her.  And  why  not,  then,  with  the 
woman  who  loves  you?  " 

441 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

But  Austin  did  not  hear  the  challenge.  Her  other 
words  had  struck  him  like  a  shot.  It  was  true — and 
he  had  been  longing,  longing  for  speech  with  Mary 
Ravencl,  to-day,  this  day,  for  just  that  reason:  to 
her,  alone,  could  he  show  the  truth. 

Mamie  seemed  wondrously  amused.  "  How  many 
men  would  I  dare  say  that  to?  Get  in.  No,  when 
I  said  I  had  experienced — a  change  of  heart —  But, 
get  in,  then!  Are  you  all  here?  " 

"  Get  in,"  meant  into  the  sleigh — a  scarlet  new 
cutter,  behind  a  horse  two  men  were  holding.  Austin 
got  in  and  gathered  up  the  reins,  and  Mrs  Rastacq 
had  to  arrange  herself  in  the  furs.  Then  she  said, 
"  Did  you  ever  meet  Mary  Ravenel?  " 

The  horse  bounded  furiously  off,  the  groom  won 
dering  at  the  unnecessary  cut  of  the  whip.  But  Aus 
tin,  now,  at  least,  was  all  there.  He  sat  very  tight 
and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  horse's  ears.  "  Oh,  yes," 
he  said,  "  I  know  her." 

"  I  have  been  staying  with  her  this  summer.  We 
worked  together  all  last  winter.  I  wish  Dorothy 
could  see  more  of  her." 

"  I  know  her  very  slightly,"  said  Austin.  He  had 
a  letter  from  Miss  Ravenel  in  his  pocket. 

"  It  was  really  on  Dorothy's  account  you  spoke 
as  you  did,  last  night — this  morning  at  my  room, 
I  mean — was  it  not?  " 

442 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  can't  abide  the  place — I  can't  endure  the  life. 
Dorothy  may  stay,  if  she  wishes — I  won't." 

"  When  I  wanted  to  add  to  the  evil  of  the  world, 
I  thought  the  world  was  all  evil,"  said  Mrs  Rastacq 
simply.  "  It  is  better  to  find  the  good  in  it.  After 
all,  do  you  never  work  in  places  that  are  worse  than 
this?  Your  work  lies  here  just  now." 

Austin  fingered  at  the  letter  in  his  breast.  It 
told  him  of  the  suffering  at  Laurel  Run.  Then  he 
thought  of  Nauchester ;  of  the  world  of  labor  in 
New  York;  of  those — already  so  far  off! — bright 
free  days  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  "  I  see  no  worse 
place  than  this.  I  may  have  seen  worse  people.  But 
even  they  were  trying — might  be  made  to  try — to 
be  better." 

"  I  am  trying  to  be  better,"  Mamie  simply  an 
swered.  "  And  Dorothy  might  be  made  to  try 

"And  Markoff?    Gansevoort?    Van  Kull?" 

*'  I  give  you  our  host.  As  for  poor  old  Kill,  we 
don't  want  him  any  better — for  the  same  reason  the 
reformer  made  an  exception  of  hell :  '  it  would  spoil 
the  place.'  But  do  you  think  you  had  better  leave 
Dorothy  alone  with  Gansevoort?  " 

"  My  wife  has  placed  herself  in  an  impossible 
situation  coming  under  the  same  roof  with  Gan 
sevoort,"  the  man  icily  replied.  There  was  a  set  to 
his  teeth  that  even  Mamie  had  learned  to  know;  it 

443 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  only  Dorothy  who  could  seem  unconscious  of  it. 
But  (so  the  Major  would  have  explained  it)  she  had 
seen  Austin  swayed  by  his  desire  of  her — and  that 
is  a  mastery  a  woman  never  forgets  she  has  had. 
"  There  is  a  night  boat,  and  I  must  be  in  New  York 
to-morrow,"  Austin  concluded. 

"  I  shall  have  Markoff  ask  Major  Brandon  in 
your  place.  And  Mr  Pinckney — don't  decide  too 
hastily — women  often  need  protection  against  them 
selves.  Remember,  you  men  had  your  liberty  since 
society  began — it's  new  to  us —  I  only  came  on  her 
account.  Your  way  should  be  her  way — 

"  You  talk  like  the  Major  himself,"  laughed 
Austin.  "  If  my  wife  is  too  silly  not  to  walk  in  the 
tents  of  Kedar,  I  am  too  proud  to  make  her  walk  in 
leash.  She  says  she  wants  a  divorce.  Well,  she  can 
get  one,  in  Rhode  Island,  for  desertion.  Will  a  Mon 
day  to  Saturday  do?  Or  must  it  run  over  Sunday? 
You  know,  we  are  not  strong  on  divorce  in  South 
Carolina.  I've  seen  a  great  lady  from  New  York  in 
vited  to  leave  a  Charleston  ball  with  her  new  husband. 
Anyhow,  I  go  to-night." 

Very  gently  Mamie  answered.  They  had  a  long 
drive,  and  he  found  her  curiously  changed.  What 
wonder  was  it — the  poor  man  bitterly  thought — 
what  wonder  was  it  that  was  wrought  by  the  soul  of 
this  young  girl  on  all  she  met?  What  radiance  of 

444 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

hers  so  transmuted  into  light  all  souls  with  whom 
she  came  in  contact?  Here  with  this  woman — this 
worldly,  spoiled  woman — with  all  the  women  in  her 
classes,  in  the  factory — with  them  it  could  not  be 
her  face.  Yet  with  him — ah,  God,  that  he  might  see 
her  face  again!  It  was  nearing  a  year  since  he  had 
seen  it  last.  Strange,  that  he  could  not  take  her  face 
with  him  wherever  he  went !  Her  soul  was  in  his, 
but  her  face  was  dim  already  in  his  memory.  And 
he  had  her  letter  in  his  pocket.  Should  he  go  ?  The 
sleigh  was  dashing  furiously  through  a  now  unbroken 
road. 

•  "  Must  you  go  ?  "  Austin  came  back  with  a  start. 
Go,  whither?  Oh,  New  York.  He  did  not  know  how 
long  he  had  been  dreaming.  They  say  one  can  dream 
a  lifetime  on  the  edge  of  awakening.  One  cannot  live 
a  life  on  the  edge  of  dreaming — 

"  I  want  to  go.  I  only  came  to  give  my  wife 
countenance — I  would  not  have  her  seem  alone  under 
that  man's  roof.  But,  Mrs  Rastacq,  you  are  very 
kind — she  will  listen  to  you — 

"  I'll  look  after  her,"  said  Mamie  promptly.  "  It 
is  only  till  Friday."  "  Petrus  Gansevoort  is  a  stupid 
man ;  he  will  not  dare  " — her  thought  went  on. 

Austin  hardly  saw  his  wife  again  before  he  left. 
They  were  far  separated  at  luncheon ;  he  did  not  seek 

445 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

her  in  the  afternoon ;  on  the  whole,  after  her  words, 
he  did  not  choose  to  explain  that  he  was  going.  He 
said  a  word  of  business  in  New  York  to  Markoff; 
and  of  course  that  gentleman  recognized  this  excuse, 
though,  for  the  moment,  his  own  business  lay  here. 

Incidentally,  he  had  meant  to  flirt  with  Austin's 
wife.  The  girls  were  slow  in  coming.  It  was  true, 
hitherto,  she  had  had  her  eyes  only  for  Gansevoort, 
and  he  was  evidently  dazzled  by  them. 

Markoff  had  counted  on  her  coming,  as  his  guest, 
this  woman  whom  he  once  had  kissed — -to  make  her 
helpless  in  his  hands.  He  had  understood  her  better 
than  her  husband,  he  thought.  And,  after  all,  this 
would  do  almost  as  well.  To  such  as  Markoff,  not  to 
spurn  is  to  consent.  Vanity  and  revenge  were  more 
to  Markoff  than  any  woman.  He  had  never  forgotten 
the  personal  repulsion  she  had  let  him  see,  in  Cam 
bridge,  five  years  back.  Which  was  to  be  the  road  of 
her  humiliation  did  not  matter.  And  he  must  not  com 
promise  himself,  if  he  meant  to  marry  one  of  these 
young  girls.  He  would  let  her  go  to  Gansevoort. 


446 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


THE  letter  had  come  that  morning,  written  from 
the  Havilands',  addressed  to  his  office.  It 
was  a  simple  note,  asking  him  to  come  and  see  her 
and  say  what  could  be  done ;  the  works  at  Laurel  Run 
were  closed.  He  had  hardly  read  the  letter  when  it 
came;  his  one  desire  had  been  to  get  alone,  and  this 
first  happened  in  his  stateroom  on  the  boat.  There 
he  read  slowly  over  the  little  note,  then  folded  it  to 
his  heart.  The  long  year  had  gone  by  and  he  might 
see  her  now,  on  the  morrow.  His  very  soul  was  bathed 
in  the  glory  of  that  coming  light. 

But  with  the  dawn  there  came  upon  the  man  a 
sense — immutable,  essential,  not  to  be  argued  with 
— a  sense  like  that  sense  of  direction  that  bids  a  bird 
or  bee  the  straight  way  home — a  sense  that  he  should 
not  seek  her  now. 

Perhaps,  thrown  off  his  guard  in  his  own  desper- 
ateness,  he  had,  in  his  very  yielding  to  it,  discovered 
the  strength  of  his  affection.  There  was  no  blinding 
himself — there  might,  alas !  if  now  they  came  to 
gether,  be  no  blinding  her — that,  though  in  very 
truth  he  adored  her,  worshiped  her  as  an  angel  from 
heaven — he  loved  her  also  as  a  woman  dwelling  on 
the  earth.  No  law  of  God  or  man  should  avail  to 

447 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

stop  his  saying  to  himself  that  he  loved  her.  And 
as  he  would  not  walk  before  her  path  in  hypocrisy, 
he  would  not  walk  her  path.  So  he  kissed  again  her 
name  upon  the  letter,  and  then — after  his  coffee  in 
his  own  house — he  wrote  to  her  that  he  could  only 
judge  of  Laurel  Run  affairs  upon  the  spot  and  was 
on  his  way  to  Ravenel.  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in 
heart,  for  they  shall  see —  The  time  might  come 
when  he  might  see  her,  but  it  was  not  yet. 

In  Maryland,  Pinckney  found  himself  once  more 
in  the  Indian  summer.  The  country  was  red  and 
brown ;  a  blue  haze  was  in  the  atmosphere ;  the  air 
one  breathed  was  softly  pungent  with  the  smoke  of 
burning  vines.  Somehow  the  beauty  of  the  land  came 
over  him  with  a  new  intoxication ;  as  he  grew  older, 
he  found  himself  more  sensible  than  ever  of  nature's 
charm,  only,  unhappily,  to  see  it  he  must  be  alone. 
There  was  a  melancholy  in  the  day ;  but  it  was  a 
melancholy  so  full,  so  tremulous  with  feeling,  so 
sweetly  speechf ul  of  the  norms  of  life  and  death,  and 
change  which  is  no  change,  and  the  peace  which 
abides,  that  it  made  in  his  heart  a  stirring  undis- 
tinguishable  from  joy. 

To  his  surprise  he  found  a  carriage,  with  the  old 
white-haired  servitor  that  was  butler,  major-domo, 
and  man  of  all  work  for  old  Mrs  Warfield,  and  even 
(it  may  be  suspected)  fed  the  one  fat  horse  that  was 

448 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

still  kept  for  the  traffic  of  the  manor  house.  "  Mis' 
Warfield  am  expectin'  you,  Mas'r  Pinckney,"  he 
said ;  "  Miss  Mary  done  telegraph." 

Austin  had  planned  to  put  up  at  Kollner's,  if  he 
found  it  necessary  to  stay  the  night,  but  this  mes 
sage  bore  no  refusal.  The  ancient  negro  treated  him 
as  an  old  family  friend,  and  this,  he  found,  was  the 
footing  on  which  Mrs  Warfield  awaited  him ;  noth 
ing  is  so  subtle  as  the  divination  of  one's  social  stand 
ing  in  the  family  by  its  old  retainers.  The  place  was 
quite  unchanged.  The  gardens  were  still  beautiful, 
but  luxuriant,  evidently  getting  beyond  Miss  Rave- 
nel's  control ;  Austin  had  time  for  a  walk  in  but  one 
of  them  before  dinner.  In  New  England,  the  hardiest 
of  gardens,  left  untended,  in  a  few  years  dies.  It 
would  seem  as  if  in  that  Puritan  air  flowers  were  not 
wanted ;  the  hard  blind  weeds  and  the  dwellers  of  the 
wood  return ;  yet  there  are  flowers  in  the  wild  wood, 
too.  But  Massachusetts  is  full  of  such  lost  places, 
gardens  overgrown,  abandoned  tofts,  where  there  is 
nothing  now  but  some  gnarled  apple  tree  or  unwonted 
garden  blooms  to  show  where  once  was  human  life 
and  love.  Austin  knew  how  much  this  garden  was  a 
part  of  the  young  girl's  life,  and  he  rejoiced  to  think 
that  it  had  long  to  live  in  that  gentle  air ;  possibly, 
some  day  ere  long,  there  would  be  another  to  tend 

it  with  her — and  her  children  after  her 

449 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

It  was  strange  that,  coming  in,  as  he  took  his 
seat  opposite  the  old  lady,  she  herself  chose  this 
theme  for  their  talk.  She  began  by  saying  that  she 
regretted  he  had  not  come  while  Miss  Ravenel  was 
there.  Mary  had  had,  on  the  whole,  a  very  success 
ful  summer,  but  had  worked  too  hard.  Her  house 
parties  had  really  seemed  to  justify  their  plan — but 
perhaps  she  bored  him,  talking  so  always  about  her 
granddaughter?  (God,  to  talk  of  her  again — as  if 
his  whole  acquaintance  of  the  recent  years  had  not 
been  chosen  among  those  who,  by  some  happy  chance, 
might  speak  to  him  of  Mary  Ravenel — she  little  knew, 
perhaps,  how  much  he  heard  about  her.)  There  was 
Freddy  Wiston,  for  instance  (Austin's  consciousness 
emerged,  as  if  from  a  diving  bell)  ;  it  was  no  breach 
of  confidence  to  tell  how  much  he  was  in  love  with 
Mary — she  would  not  listen  to  him.  Yet  he  had  the 
sweetest  nature,  and  his  millions,  surely,  were  no  ob 
jection — there  would  be  little  enough  when  her  pen 
sion  ended.  "  You  know,  Mr  Pinckney,  she  will  have 
literally  no  relations — Basil  Conynghame  is  a  recluse 
— there  are  one  or  two  far-off  Warfield  cousins,  whom 
she  never  sees,  and  the  Ravenels  are  extinct.  As  for 
Mr  Breese,  she  must  have  nothing  to  do  with  that 
side  of  the  house —  You  know  Miss  Aylwin? — of 
course  you  do,  she's  in  your  office — well,  she  has  told 
me  things  about  Miles  Breese — fortunately  that 

450 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Pittsburg  woman  will  look  after  him,  and  now  that 
he  owes  his  daughter  money,  he's  not  likely  to  trouble 
her.  A  very  pretty  girl  is  your  Miss  Aylwin — how 
much  refinement  she  has  for  one  in  her  station  of  life 
— Kbllner,  at  the  works,  is  desperately  in  love  with 
her." 

"  Why  doesn't  she  marry  him?  "  said  Austin.  It 
was  easier  to  ask  the  question  about  Miss  Aylwin 
than  about  Miss.Ravenel. 

The  old  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "  I  don't 
know  what's  got  into  the  girls  nowadays.  In  the 
old  times  we  were  like  to  marry  a  dozen  times  before 
we  were  twenty.  Whether  the  men  are  inferior— or 
the  girls  don't  fall  in  love —  We  had  no  trouble 
falling  in  love."  And  the  old  lady  laughed  with  a 
sparkle  in  her  eye  that  made  one  wish  to  have  been 
born  earlier.  "  Some  of  the  girls  at  the  works  have 
married — and  married  men  that  they  met  through 
Mary's  parties.  But  I  tell  her,  what's  the  use  of 
keeping  a  matrimonial  bureau  if  she  won't  be  her 
own  customer?  " 

"  I  thought  her  object  was  rather  to  refine  the 
men,  to  elevate  the  one  sex  by  the  other." 

Mrs  Warfield  sniffed  Voltairean.  "  Refinement 
and  marriage  are  the  same  thing  for  any  man.  And 
a  girl  ought  to  fall  in  love  by  nature — that's  what 
they're  made  for,  not  to  alter  the  face  of  the  world 

451 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

— the  first  thing  they'll  alter  will  be  themselves,  I'll 
hazard — and  the  last." 

Austin  could  not  but  reflect  how  identical  her 
philosophy  was  with  the  Major's. 

"  She  says  the  New  York  men  are  only  money- 
making  machines.  And  the  foreigners  at  Washing 
ton  she  despises.  Yet  they  know  how  to  please  a 
woman.  In  my  youth,  we  turned  out  American  gen 
tlemen  who  knew  this,  too.  Where  have  they  all 
gone  to?  " 

Kollner  came  in  after  dinner.  He  gave  a  pitiable 
account  of  the  conditions  at  Laurel  Run.  They  must 
certainly  give  up  the  business,  he  said.  But  the 
Watchmakers'  Trust  would  only  offer  half  what  it 
would  have  given  a  year  since.  And  what  would  be 
come  of  the  people  of  Laurel  Run?  For  the  works 
would  certainly  be  abandoned ;  and  they  owned  their 
own  farms  and  homes,  and  had  done  so  these  hundred 
years.  They  would  have  to  be  sold,  as  farms,  for 
what  they  would  bring,  and  the  young  ladies  (Koll 
ner  always  said  "  young  ladies  ")  take  work  in  the 
Philadelphia  factories.  One  or  two  had  been  married 
the  past  year ;  they  were  the  more  fortunate. 

"  How  are  the  works  owned?  "  asked  Austin. 

"  Ownedt?  "  Kollner  looked  as  if  he  hardly  under 
stood.  "  Why,  the  people  own  them." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  stock  company  ? — 
452 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

some  organization  ? — certificates  of  stock  to  show 
how  much  each  one  owns?  " 

Kollner  shook  his  head.  "  There  wass  no  needt. 
Of  course,  the  people  who  built  the  works,  an  hun- 
dert  years  ago,  they  ownedt  them,  and  now  it  is  their 
children  and  their  grandchildren.  What  needt  is 
there  of  certificates?  Everyone  knows  who  they  are 
which  owns  the  Laurel  Run." 

"  But  if  one  of  the  founders — one  of  the  people 
who  built  the  works  a  hundred  years  ago — had  only 
one  son  and  another  had  six,  of  course  they  would 
have  only  a  sixth  part  of  the  only  son's  share — 

"  I  do  not  see,"  said  Kollner.  "  Every  headt  of 
a  family  has  a  full  share  like  every  other — -of  course 
they  all  work — it  is  only  of  the  profits  that  I  speak : 
all  the  women  and  the  men  are  also  paidt  their  wages 
for  what  they  work — 

Austin  turned  to  Mrs  Warfield  with  a  laugh. 
"  That  is  true  cooperation !  Only,  I  should  think  it 
might  unduly  encourage  large  families.  Mrs  War- 
field,  can  you  keep  me  for  a  day  or  two  longer?  I 
must  have  a  friend  down  to  see  us  here — and,  don't 
be  alarmed,  he  is  a  walking  delegate !  " 

But  Mrs  Warfield  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what 
a  walking  delegate  might  be.  She  only  said  that  any 
friend  of  Mr  Pinckney  would  be  welcome ;  and  Aus 
tin,  who  had  not  at  first  thought  of  having  him  in- 

453 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

vited  to  the  house,  suddenly  saw  the  wisdom  of  it, 
and  only  added  that  she  must  not  expect  a  gentle 
man.  Hugh  Michael  was  but  an  educated  mechanic. 
At  which  the  bright  old  lady  only  bridled  a  bit,  seem 
ing  to  think  that  anyone  was  a  gentleman  who  was 
invited  to  stay  at  Ravenel.  Fritz  Kollner  volunteered 
to  ride  to  the  station  with  a  telegram  to  Michael  from 
Austin ;  and  our  hero,  who  had  promised  himself  a 
lonely  cigar  in  the  garden,  found  himself  tete-a-tete 
with  Mrs  Warfield,  who  insisted  on  his  having  his 
cigar  with  her.  Austin  consented,  and  with  no  bad 
grace;  but  this  time  she  did  not  talk  of  her  grand 
daughter,  and  he  stood  too  much  in  awe  of  her  pene 
tration  to  so  much  as  mention  her  name ;  indeed  her 
name  was  always  what  he  could  least  trust  himself 
to  speak.  But  the  lively  old  lady  showed  herself  per 
fectly  charming ;  she  remembered  even  to  the  War  of 
1812  and  was  full  of  that  human  history  of  the  Re 
public  that  is  not  told  in  the  books — the  social  mis 
adventures  of  Andrew  Jackson  and  his  womankind, 
the  successes  of  the  bachelor  Van  Buren,  the  visit  of 
Lafayette.  Lafayette  had  arrived  at  Ravenel  ex 
hausted  from  his  Western  trip,  with  only  breath 
enough  left  to  say,  "  They  are  all  good  peop's,  ver' 
good  peop's,  but  I  am  ver'  tired !  "  At  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning  the  lively  old  lady  showed  not  the 
slightest  disposition  to  go  to  bed,  and  Austin,  albeit 

454 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

doubtful  of  the  etiquette  of  the  same,  had  to  make 
the  move  himself— 

Again  he  was  under  her  roof.  Hora  quce  non 
sperabitur —  The  day  that  he  had  thought  would 
never  come  had  come  again — he  might  even  have  seen 
her  that  very  day,  had  he  so  chosen.  Through  his 
open  windows  came  the  warm  scent  of  the  box  in  the 
garden ;  her  own  room  must  be  just  along  in  the  wing 
beyond  ;  and,  though  she  was  no  longer  here,  the  whole 
place  imaged  in  his  heart  her  presence.  He  was  in  her 
earthly  mansion,  he  could  walk  in  her  paths,  tend  her 
flowers,  read  her  books,  touch  what  she  had  touched. 
And  it  seemed  to  the  man,  again,  in  some  strange  way, 
that  his  soul  became  as  hers,  even  to  the  loss  of  per 
sonal  identity ;  it  was  no  other  thing  than  hers — and 
hers  had  its  part  in  the  Divine.  Love  speaks  not 
always  grammar  nor  holds  its  exaltation  blasphe 
mous. 

Of  course  he  was  out  walking  at  the  dawn.  He 
sought  out  every  path  he  fancied  her  feet  had  trod 
— again  he  climbed  the  Laurel  Run,  a  deeper  purple 
to-day  than  he  had  seen  it  those  years  before,  for  long 
since,  the  frost  had  come.  He  had  not  to  shut  his  eyes 
to  see  her  slender  figure  gliding  through  the  beech 
and  birch,  hardly  even  to  see  the  glory  of  her  gentle 
face  again  now  turned  to  his.  He  should  write  to  her 
to-day.  Alas !  what  could  he  say  ?  His  poor  cold 

455 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

note,  thanking  her  for  her  thoughtful  telegram  and 
Mrs  Warfield's  hospitality,  saying  that  he  must  stay 
down  a  day  or  two  until  Hugh  Michael  should  come 
— this  was  last  written,  only  as  the  very  sun  rimmed 
the  eastern  plain — for  first  Charles  Austin  had  writ 
ten  the  letter  that  he  would  write  to  Mary  had  God 
shaped  this  world  to  meet  their  mortal  ends.  All  his 
heart's  blood  went  into  this,  all  the  pent-up  fire  within 
his  prison  bars,  the  passion  of  a  man,  the  adoration 
of  a  poet,  the  love  of  a  hero — a  score  of  closely 
written  pages  that  left  his  heart  a  waste,  his  pulses 
calm,  his  soul  as  if  shriven  by  the  confession — and 
then  (such  follies  will  strong  men  do),  closed  care 
fully  and  sealed,  the  other  letter  was  mailed,  and  this 
one  he  took  up  and  buried — buried  in  the  crevice  of 
a  precipice  above  the  rock  where  she  had  sat  that  day. 
Only  Goethe,  Shakespeare,  Dante,  have  recorded  such 
a  folly — 

Kollner  was  waiting  for  him  at  the  mill. 


LI 


WHEN  Austin  had  explained  to  Mrs  Warfield 
what    a    walking    delegate    was,    she    had 
promptly  visualized  a  conception  of  Mr  Michael  based 
upon  the  comic  newspapers.     Short  hair,  a  stout  neck 

456 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

with  creases,  and  a  stout  paunch  without,  a  large  check 
suit,  a  silk  hat,  and  a  blazing  scarfpin  were  perhaps 
its  leading  features.  Judge,  then,  of  the  gentle 
lady's  surprise  when  she  found  herself  led  into  dinner 
by  a  pale  young  scholar  whose  black  frock  coat  and 
narrow  tie  made  him  seem  rather  like  a  preacher  than 
an  agitator.  "  My  interest  in  this  case  is  extra-pro 
fessional,  you  might  even  call  it  academic,"  he  said 
to  Austin.  Then,  turning  to  Mrs  Warfield :  "  I  am 
delegate  of  the  Machinists'  Union.  But  Mr  Pinckney 
stands  so  high  with  all  of  us  that  anything  he  sug 
gests — then,  too,  we  all  know  and  admire  Miss  Rav- 
enel " 

"  What  does  Mr  Pinckney  suggest  ?  "  interrupted 
the  old  lady. 

Michael  looked  at  Austin  and  smiled. 

"  I  suggest  a  sympathetic  strike,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  thought  as  much.  And  here  you  have  been 
lecturing  us  for  two  years  that  they  are  all  wrong," 
said  the  agitator. 

"  Hugh  Michael,  beware  of  the  academic.  All 
great  constitutional  bodies  have  their  war  powers. 
I  need  hardly  point  out  that  this  is  war.  They 
began  it." 

Michael   nodded   in   unison   to    Austin's    periods 
with  a   smile.      "  All  quite  true.      At   least,   I   have 
heard  others  say  as  much." 
30  457 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Not  me,  I  suppose.  Well,"  laughed  Austin, 
"  I  despise  a  hidebound  consistency." 

"  And  there  ye're  on  broad  human  ground  where 
the  Celt  and  Saxon  can  always  meet." 

"  And  I  don't  propose  the  Watch  Trust  shall 
wipe  out  the  homes  of  Laurel  Run.  In  fact,  if  Mrs 
Warfield  will  forgive  me  for  saying  so,  I'm  damned 
if  they  shall !  " 

"  Forgive  you?  I'll  make  it  a  toast.  Take  some 
champagne,  Mr  Michael — some  champagne,  Fritz. 
Here's  to  your  being — I  think  you  said? — '  damned 
if  they  shall.'  '  And  the  old  lady's  eyes  danced  with 
fun. 

"  Besides,  you  know,"  Austin  went  on,  "  it  won't 
come  to  a  strike.  The  whole  Laurel  Run  output  is 
but  a  fleabite  to  them.  The  merest  threat  will  be 
enough." 

"  The  threat  must  be  heeled,  all  the  same.  You 
lend  me  one  or  two  of  the  women — and  Fritz  here 
(Michael  had  already  got  to  calling  Kollner  Fritz) 
and  we'll  have  a  little  deputation  to  New  York.  Will 
you  come  back  with  me  to-morrow?  No  brass  bands 
— only  moral  suasion." 

Kollner  colored  with  pleasure.  "  But  you  should 
first  see  the  works;  you  should  study  the  condi 
tions — 

"  Oh,  I've  got  the  conditions  all  right — still,  we'll 
458 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

take  to-morrow  morning  at  the  works  and  get  up  by 
the  evening  train — 

That  night  Austin  indulged  himself  in  another 
letter,  to  tell  Miss  Ravenel  what  they  had  done.  The 
missive  bore  no  one  of  his  buried  words.  The  next 
morning  was  spent  in  the  factory  and  among  the 
homes  of  the  watch  people ;  and  Michael  and  Fritz 
collected  two  others  to  serve  with  Fritz  on  their  com 
mittee — one  an  older  woman,  left  a  widow  with  three 
children,  who  had  returned,  to  support  them,  to  her 
old  employment  at  the  works ;  the  other  a  fair  Ger 
man  girl  with  eyes  like  a  gentian  and  braids  of  hair 
like  ripe  corn.  Poor  Kollner  was  in  obvious  excite 
ment  ;  as  they  neared  the  great  city  it  increased ;  he 
was  continually  moistening  his  parched  lips ;  Michael 
attributed  it  to  the  coming  ordeal  before  the  Watch 
makers'  Union,  but  Austin  knew  better.  All  three 
were  safely  housed  in  a  model  lodging  house  recom 
mended  by  Miss  Ravenel  (how  did  they  hear  of  it? 
Well,  Austin  had  had  a  letter  from  her),  and  Austin, 
resisting  a  strong  temptation  to  be  their  escort  to 
the  theatre,  hurried  with  Michael  to  an  evening  meet 
ing  of  the  union.  There,  with  Michael's  help,  the 
matter  was  easily  arranged ;  "  only,"  he  said,  "  it 
can't  be  for  to-morrow.  You  must  go  through  the 
form  of  a  mass  meeting.  And  Fritz  and  Gretchen 
and  Mrs  Lochmann  must  be  introduced  to  their  fel- 

459 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

low-members  of  the  union.  All  now  depends  on  their 
help." 

"Haven't  they  got  to  be  elected  first?" 

"  Well,  I  wasn't  quite  so  casual  as  you  seemed  to 
think.  I  took  a  signed  charter  down  with  me  in  my 
pocket,  and  organized  a  branch  union  at  Laurel  Run 
that  morning  while  you  were  out  to  walk- — Kollner  is 
president,  and  Gretchen  secretary.  We're  Organized 
Labor  all  right !  " 

Austin  invited  Kollner  to  meet  him  at  the  office 
in  the  morning,  and  told  him  what  car  to  take  to  get 
to  Wall  Street.  "  And  if  I'm  not  there  just  go  into 
the  library  and  wait.  Miss  Aylwin  will  give  you  the 
morning  paper."  Poor  Austin  wondered  if  he  him 
self  blushed  like  that  whenever  the  name  of  Miss  Rav- 
enel  was  mentioned — he  had  long  since  dropped  the 
effort  to  have  secrets  with  his  own  heart.  But  coming 
down  he  found  poor  Fritz  roaming  disconsolately  in 
the  outer  office,  and  Miss  Aylwin  deeply  absorbed  in 
her  Remington. 

He  gave  himself  the  afternoon,  to  show  to  Koll 
ner  the  Bowery  clubs,  and  then  sent  them  all  for  a 
drive  in  Central  Park.  He  had  wanted  to  ask  Miss 
Aylwin,  but  his  courage  had  failed  him.  He  proposed 
himself  to  the  Havilands'  for  dinner,  but  no  else  was 
there.  They  talked  over  poor  Kollner's  case.  Yes, 
there  was  a  social  difference,  John  admitted ;  but  she 

460 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

had  been  too  acutely  conscious  of  it.  "  She  keeps 
me  at  a  stern  distance,"  laughed  Austin,  "  but  Koll- 
ner  she  ignores.  Who  are  the  Watch  Trust's  attor 
neys?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  the  Watch  Trust  is  a  very  secret 
thing — probably  at  the  Albany  capitol  they  would 
deny  its  existence.  The  Geneva  Company,  the  largest 
manufacturers,  floated  an  issue  of  bonds  last  year — 
it  seemed  unnecessarily  large,  even  for  them.  Auer- 
bach's  firm  placed  the  securities.  Possibly,  if  they 
heard  something  to  their  disadvantage,  your  friend 
Markoff  might  turn  up — 

"  Where  is  Miss  Ravenel?  I  have  just  come  from 
her  place,"  Austin  explained. 

"  Oh,  she  would  go  back  to  her  lodgings.  It  must 
be  dreary  enough,  poor  child,  though  little  more  so, 
I  suppose,  since  the  old  man  bolted.  Isn't  that  a 
good  picture  of  her?  Grace  made  her  have  one 
taken.  Excuse  me  a  moment ;  I  hear  her  calling — 

Austin  looked  at  the  soft  carbon  plate ;  it  showed 
Miss  Ravenel  in  a  simple  white  frock,  standing,  with 
eyes  looking  clearly  ahead  and  a  little  upward,  as  if 
at  something  that  had  suddenly  attracted  her  atten 
tion;  but  the  artist  had  done  full  justice  to  the  won 
derful  purity  of  her  lips  and  eyes,  the  sweet,  strong 
brow,  the  gentleness  of  her  pose.  And  he  would  have 
given  his  earthly  possessions  to  take  it  with  him.  He 

461 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

dropped  it  hastily  as  Gracie  entered ;  he  had  more 
fear  of  her  than  of  John. 

That  night  the  Sun  announced  "  exclusively  "  the 
coming  of  a  strike  which  would  paralyze  the  watch 
trade.  Since  the  depression  caused  by  the  era  of 
bicycles,  it  was  said,  wages  had  never  been  restored 
to  their  old  level ;  but  throughout  the  returning  pros 
perity  the  discontent  had  been  growing  and  was  now 
about  to  culminate.  Then  there  was  an  "  Interview 
with  Hugh  Michael.  The  President  of  the  Machin 
ists'  Union  Talks."  But  Austin  observed  that  he 
said  nothing  about  the  Laurel  Run  Watch  Company. 
At  the  mass  meeting  held  that  evening,  to  v,  hich  Aus 
tin  gladly  sacrificed  a  millionaires'  dinner,  the  dele 
gates  from  Ravenel  were  introduced  as  "  exponents 
of  the  conditions  there — now  out  of  work  through 
modern  methods."  Kollner  made  an  embarrassed  ad 
dress  ;  Mrs  Lochmann  spoke  simply  and  impressively ; 
but  the  enthusiasm  of  the  evening  rose  to  a  climax 
when  Gretchen  came  forward  to  sing  a  simple  Ger 
man  folk  song — so  un-selfconsciously  she  did  it. 
Then  the  resourceful  Michael  had  a  stereopticon, 
and  already  photographs  of  the  homes  at  Laurel 
Run,  a  group  of  all  the  factory  girls,  and  a  view 
or  two  of  the  valley  were  thrown  upon  the  screen. 
Hugh  Michael  himself  said  something  about  the 
general  wages  and  condition  of  the  watch  busi- 

462 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ness:  "  And  here  you  have  just  what  we  are  all  striv 
ing  for — a  condition  of  happy  individual  homes — 
owned  by  the  workingmen — the  necessary  power 
brought  to  the  door  of  each — the  plant  owned  by 
the  very  workmen  that  have  created  it — and  just 
because  it  is  so  perfect,  because  it  is  a  living  example 
of  the  success  of  cooperation,  and  because  it  will  not 
join  the  Trust,  the  Money  Power  has  sought  to  de 
stroy  it."  Then  Austin  himself  was  put  forward  as 
the  intelligent  friend  to  labor — "  well  known  to  be 
with  them  when  they  were  right,  against  them  when 
they  were  wrong  " — and  it  was  somehow  understood 
that  he,  Michael,  and  Kollner  were  appointed  a  com 
mittee  with  full  powers,  and  the  meeting  adjourned. 

The  next  morning  Austin  was  not  surprised  to 
receive  a  visit  from  Mr  Markoff .  "  I  came,"  said  he, 
"  about  this  ridiculous  watch  business,  though  I  don't 
see  what  you  have  to  do  with  it." 

"  The  Laurel  Run  Association  own  their  own 
business  and  works.  It  is  a  client  of  mine.  I  have 
just  been  down  there." 

"  Oh,  that  is  why  you  left  my  house  party,"  said 
Markoff.  "  I  should  not  have  supposed  the  business 
was  important  enough.  Mrs  Pinckney  is  still  with 
me —  However,  I've  got  nothing  to  do  with  the 
Laurel  Run  people.  I  want  to  see  the  representa 
tives  of  the  Watchmakers'  Union." 

463 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Michael  is  in  the  next  room.  And  Kollner,  of 
Laurel  Run,  is  in  the  library,  as  it  happens —  Miss 
Aylwin !  "  Austin  had  rung  her  bell.  "  I  want  you 
to  take  down  what  I  have  to  say —  But  first,  I  wish 
you'd  call  Mr  Kollner— 

"  Stop,  Austin — this  little  affair  had  best  be  set 
tled  just  between  ourselves —  Miss  Aylwin  paused 
irresolute.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  under  the 
New  York  Code  a  threat  of  a  strike,  an  intimidation 
to  control  another  in  the  conduct  of  his  business,  to 
the  prejudice  of  a  third  party,  is  a  penal  offense — 

"  That  is  precisely  why  I  want  Miss  Aylwin  to 
take  down  what  they  say — 

"  Perhaps  you'll  say  it  yourself,"  said  Markoff. 

Austin  smiled.  "  Well,  then — to  begin  with,  it's 
not  to  the  prejudice  of  a  third  party — it's  for  its 
benefit.  The  Watch  Trust  won't  bill  their  goods  to 
any  firm  that  deals  with  Laurel  Run." 

"  Admitting — which  I  don't  admit — that  there  is 
a  trust ;  and  admitting — which  I  don't  admit — that 
there  is  a  boycott — one  illegality  doesn't  cure  an 
other.  And  aren't  you  getting  up  a  pretty  big  boy 
cott  yourself?  Haven't  I  heard  you  say  that  a  boy 
cott  is  always  illegal?  " 

"  This  isn't  a  boycott — only  a  strike,"  said 
Austin. 

"  Well,  haven't  you  condemned  sympathetic 
464 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

strikes  to  those  very  labor  agitators  you  now 
represent?  " 

"  Any  man  or  set  of  men  has  a  right  to  combine 
to  better  their  own  condition.  This  is  a  strike — or 
will  be,  if  it  comes  to  that — of  all  the  union  watch 
makers  for  higher  wages." 

"  And  I  am  to  understand  that  it  needn't  come 
to  that  if  the  Trust  will  do  business  with  Laurel  Run  ? 
Haven't  I  heard  you  say  that  while  any  man  may 
leave  his  work  at  any  time,  the  concerted  threat  to  do 
so  may  be  unlawful?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  threats.  They  may  strike, 
if  they're  not  given  higher  wages." 

"  We  are  prepared  to  be  reasonable  on  the  wage 
question — if  they  will  not  paralyze  the  winter  trade." 

"  If  the  Laurel  Run  people  are  treated  fairly  I 
am  sure  they  will  be  reasonable."  Austin  rang  for 
Michael  and  Fritz. 

"  The  fact  is,  you  fellows  have  got  carte  blanche," 
laughed  Markoff.  "  Well,  that's  what  I  call  altru 
ism.  I  must  refer  that  to  Felix  Adler!  Of  course, 
the  Laurel  Run  concern  is  a  mere  fleabite  to  us.  But 
promise  me,  if  we  take  off  the  boycott,  this  wages 
business  ceases?  " 

"  I  think  Mr  Michael  can  make  no  promise — that 
might  be  construed  as  a  threat,  you  see." 

"  I  see,"  laughed  the  amiable  Markoff.  "  Well, 
31  465 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

I'm  going  back  to  Newport.  Must  at  least  bid  my 
guests  good-by.  Only  next  time,  don't  mount  a 
twelve-inch  gun  to  hit  a  sandpiper !  " 

"  Your  business  is  ended,  Mr  Kollner,"  said  Aus 
tin  to  that  puzzled  young  Dutchman,  who  looked  at 
first  as  if  it  were  too  good  to  be  true,  and  then,  as 
at  some  second  thought,  his  face  fell  again.  "  You 
can  go  back  to-night.  Or  rather — perhaps  there  are 
some  details  to  arrange — I  suppose  Mrs  Lochmann 
can  take  Gretchen  back?  The  works  may  start  at 
once." 

"  Sure  " — it  was  a  rich  guttural — "  I  have  some 
supplies  to  purchase,"  the  young  man  firmly  added. 

"  Well,  come  in  and  see  us  every  day." 

A  fellow-feeling  makes  us  wondrous  kind.  But 
that  night  Austin,  as  after  every  accomplishment, 
felt  cast  down  once  more.  Achievement  was  not  frui 
tion.  Still,  it  was  better  than  it  had  been ;  at  least 
he  had  a  heart  in  his  work.  So  he  went  home  and 
took  up  the  matter  of  a  ship  that  was  lost  at  sea. 
Before  doing  so  he  wrote  gently  to  Dorothy,  beg 
ging  her  to  come  home.  Meantime,  Mary  Ravenel 
was  writing  to  him. 

For  she  had,  all  unconsciously  to  herself,  kept  in 
touch  with  all  that  Austin  was  doing.  Why  should 
she  not?  Maidlike,  she  had  persuaded  herself  that 
there  need  be,  that  there  was,  no  emotional  relation. 

466 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  years  had  gone  by,  and  this  had  easily  come 
about.  Therefore  she  gave  herself  free  rein  to  like 
him  as  a  friend.  And  now  he  had  been  doing  her  a 
service — he  had  found  time,  with  all  the  claims  upon 
him,  to  do  her  this  kindness.  She  had  seen  the  settle 
ment  of  the  strike  in  the  evening  paper ;  it  must  have 
concerned  Laurel  Run ;  she  was  too  anxious  to  wait 
to  hear  from  Kollner  or  Mrs  Warfield.  She  would 
write  to  him — why  should  she  not? — and  ask  him  to 
tell  her.  His  letter  had  arrived  only  that  morning 
— not  a  word  in  it  that  was  not  business. 

Had  she  known  the  passionate  joy  her  own  note 
caused,  she  might,  one  fears,  have  hesitated.  Austin 
had  been  hungering  for  her  now  nigh  a  year — starv 
ing  for  denial  of  her  eyes.  And  surely,  once  a  year 
was  not  too  often  ?  And  now,  at  last,  it  came —  "  I 
am  so  anxious  to  hear  what  you  have  done,"  she  wrote. 
"  Why  will  you  not  call  for  me,  at  Rivington  Street, 
and  we  can  walk  uptown?  Any  day  will  do,  before 
dark — "  Any  day  was  to-day. 

But  ah,  what  iron  self-control  the  man  imposed 
upon  himself !  True,  he  went  very  early — he  meant  to 
beg  for  an  extension  of  their  walk,  to  the  park — he 
was  careful  not  to  tell  the  tale  too  rapidly.  She  was 
enthusiastic,  happy — as  she  walked  at  his  side — and, 
O  merciful  God,  how  he  loved  her !  And  yet,  when 
his  eyes  met  hers,  they  dared  reveal  the  inmost  cham- 

467 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

bers  of  his  soul,  for  there  dwelt  no  wrong  in  it ;  and 
it  was  hers,  if  she  willed,  to  know  the  truth.  A  man 
bares  all  the  truth  to  the  woman  he  truly  loves.  And 
yet,  perhaps — I  do  not  know — it  was  the  very  sim 
plicity  of  Austin's  manner  deceived  her — or  did  it? 
At  all  events,  the  purest  maiden  may  hold  a  truth  at 
arm's  length ;  a  man  not  so.  Yet  they  were  so  happy 
at  being  together  that  they  should  have  known. 

The  joy  of  that  gray  day  seemed  to  blazon  back 
through  many  months  of  Austin's  life ;  it  lightened 
many  months  ahead.  She  spoke  no  more  of  Dorothy 
to  him ;  when  she  referred  to  his  own  life  there  was  a 
tinge  of  something  like  compassion.  But  she  led  him 
out  to  talk  freely  of  himself.  She  had  consented  to 
the  park  ramble ;  but  the  early  winter  sunset  came 
so  soon ! 

"  So  it's  all  happily  settled —  "  she  had  said. 

"  All  happily  settled — but  do  you  know,  Miss 
Ravenel — I  wonder  if  you  ever  have  that  feeling — 
I  mean,  what  next?  What  is  the  next  thing  to  do?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  should,  if  I  were  a  man- 
There  is  politics,  for  instance.  You  know  they  want 
to  get  Mr  Haviland  to  run  for  mayor?  Why  don't 
you  take  public  office?  You  have  seen  what  a  trust 
is —  If  you  were  Attorney-General — 

"  I  might  accomplish  something,"  laughed  Austin. 
"  Well,  I'd  rather  take  the  stump  for  John." 

468 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

But  that  day  had  to  last  him  many  years.  He 
labored  on  at  what  they  gave  him ;  not  able  himself  to 
choose  his  work  in  the  world.  What  is  there  great 
enough  for  a  man  to  serve  who  may  not  serve  his  love? 
But  Mary  felt  that  she  had  brought  him  and  his  wife 
together,  for  a  time — and  then  had  failed.  And  now 
she  thought  of  him  alone. 

Meantime  John  Haviland  had  been  elected 
Mayor  of  New  York.  And  Austin  Pinckney  was 
the  District  Attorney.  He  left,  said  the  newspapers, 
a  lucrative  practice  to  take  the  place.  So  Dorothy 
had  upbraided  him  for  it.  But  it  seemed  that  Dor 
othy  had  lost  her  influence  upon  his  life. 


LII 


IT  was  late  one  summer,  in  the  Columbian  Club ;  no 
time  to  be  there,  and  the  Major  was  undeniably 
out  of  temper.  He  had  been  attending  a  meeting  of 
the  Governing  Committee,  where  he  had  been  one  of 
three  (all  retired  from  business)  to  blackball  Mr  Au 
gustus  Markoff;  and  he  had  arrived  so  in  the  nick  of 
time  and  acted  with  such  decision  that  his  colleagues 
had  laughingly  charged  him  with  having  returned 
from  Europe  for  the  purpose.  Even  this  virtuous 
act  had  not  restored  to  the  Major  his  wonted  serenity. 

469 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

And  his  grounds  for  this  personal  bitterness  remained 
exasperatingly  general.  When  reproached  with  hav 
ing  visited  Markoff  only  two  or  three  years  be 
fore,  he  merely  intimated  that  that  was  precisely 
when  and  where  he  had  obtained  that  knowledge  of 
Markoff's  character  which  gave  him  his  indubitable 
conviction  that  that  gentleman  was  not  qualified,  by 
use  or  custom  or  previous  condition  of  gentility,  to 
become  a  member  of  the  Columbian  Club. 

What  made  it  the  more  of  a  shock  was  that  Mark- 
off  had  been  proposed  by  no  less  a  person  than  Petrus 
Gansevoort.  Only  an  oddly  assorted  pair  had  been 
found  to  fly  at  the  house  of  Gansevoort  and  join 
Brandon  in  his  dissent — Mr  John  Haviland  and  Mr 
Killian  Van  Kull.  The  latter  merely  asserted  that  he 
was  too  (languidly)  damnable  a  cad,  in  a  voice  that 
had  a  plaintive  dying  fall.  Yet  his  gentle  blue  eyes 
met  the  Major's  with  a  look  that  betrayed  a  mutual 
understanding.  It  was  suspected  that  they  had  both 
been  witnesses  of  something  at  that  very  Newport 
house  party,  which  had  otherwise  so  assured  Mark 
off's  social  position.  As  for  John,  he  had  his  busi 
ness  reasons ;  moreover,  he  preferred  in  his  favorite 
club  to  meet  Americans.  And  now  he  and  the  Major 
and  Van  Kull  were  left  alone  while  Gansevoort  was 
digesting  the  affront,  after  hotly  telling  Van  Kull 
there  wasn't  a  decent  room  in  Christendom  that  he 

470 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

(Van  Kull)  ought  to  have  a  look  into — to  which  that 
unruffled  gentleman  replied  merely  with  the  sugges 
tion  of  a  "  cooler."  Gansevoort  then  had  turned 
upon  his  heel.  And  the  conversation,  somehow, 
turned  to  Dorothy.  And  the  Major  related  to  Van 
Kull  how  the  marriage  had  been  brought  about. 

"  Whoever  would  have  thought  she  would  '  pull ' 
in  double  harness?"  said  he,  as  he  ended.  "She 
looked  as  simple  as —  But  I  always  feared  Pinckney 
would  forget,  it's  the  ring  finger  carries  the  curb." 

"  If  she'll  only  carry  through  to  forty,  she  may 
settle  down,"  said  Killian. 

The  Major  shook  his  head.  "  She  hasn't  a  noble 
note  in  her  register — and  he  would  make  her  his 
divinity.  She  was  a  nice  enough  little  girl— with  a 
look  of  race — a  small  head  is  a  great  beauty,  in 
women  or  horses.  She  was  a  pretty  thing,  many  a 
man  might  have  idolized  her  ;  he  idealized  her.  Women 
know  their  place;  we  should  have  kept  them  there. 
She  might  have  been  the  favorite  in  a  harem — 

"  Oh,  come,"  laughed  John.  "  She's  not  so  bad 
as  that." 

"  The  virtue  of  a  woman  and  of  an  egg  admits  of 
no  degrees,"  sententiously  replied  the  Major.  "  The 
moment  she  steps  out  of  her  shrine,  she  is  lost — to  a 
man  like  Pinckney.  Oh,  I  know  'em  all — from  Eve 
to  Mary." 

471 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  A  man  may  know  'em  all  and  not  know  any 
one,"  said  the  lady-killer. 

"  You  had  better  say,  from  Ashtaroth  to  Helen," 
Haviland  interposed.  "  I'll  admit  there's  not  much 
range  between  those  two." 

"  Well,  she's  in  their  class —  "  growled  Brandon. 

"  I'm  not  so  sure,"  rejoined  the  professional. 
"  If  it  were  her  sister,  now—  But  he  checked  him 
self.  "  Pinckney's  a  good  fellow."  And  he  took  his 
leave. 

"  I  thought  the  boy  would  have  changed  every 
thing,"  then  said  John. 

"  He  has,  for  Austin — I  think  the  baby  seems  to 
her  an — an  anachronism,"  said  the  Major,  feeling  for 
a  word.  "  I  know  she  was  very  much  astounded. 
Mrs  Ilastacq  told  me  so,  when  she  discovered  it,  at 
Newport — I  think  Mamie  before  that  had  been  afraid 
something  was  going  to  happen — she  telegraphed 
me  to  come — the  only  thing  that  happened  was  to 
see  this  Markoff  get  set  down — I  wasn't  needed. 
Gad,  it  was  well  done,  though!"  and  the  Major 
chuckled. 

"  What  are  you  to  do  in  these  duelless  days  ?  " 
mused  Haviland.  "  It  would  be  ridiculous  to  chal 
lenge  a  Markoff." 

"  He  might  be  clever  enough  to  accept  it — it 
would  improve  his  social  standing.  What  would  you 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

do,  Austin?  "  The  Major  spoke  quite  placidly,  but 
Haviland  started  as  the  younger  man  came  up  behind 
them.  He  felt  ashamed  that  they  had  been  discussing 
his  wife. 

"  Do  when?  "  said  Pinckney.  He  was  grayer 
than  when  we  saw  him  last,  just  after  that  autumn 
in  the  Rockies.  And  Haviland  now  was  Mayor  of 
New  York.  John  went  on,  speaking  more  freely  as 
Killian  walked  away. 

"  When — I  don't  speak  in  my  official  capacity— 
a  fellow  like  Markoff,  for  instance,  makes  himself 
too  personally  obnoxious  —  compromises  a  young 
lady,  or  persecutes  a  woman  in  whom  you  take  an 
interest — 

"  Not  speaking  in  my  official  capacity  as  District 
Attorney — I  think  I  should  shoot  him." 

"  But  suppose  he  won't  stand  for  it?  You 
can't  assassinate  him.  Or  suppose  the  young  lady 
took  his  side?  It  would  do  no  good  to  kick 
him " 

"  A  slap  in  the  face,  though,  administered  with 
discreet  publicity — "  suggested  the  Major. 

"  No  publicity  would  be  necessary,"  said  Austin 
quietly.  "  Duels  made  manners,  but  they  didn't 
create  right  and  wrong.  A  man  in  the  wrong  is 
always  a  coward.  But  he  needs " 

"A  good  knockdown  blow?" 
473 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  should  fell  him  like  an  ox,"  said  Austin 
gravely. 

"  What  a  thing  it  is  to  hail  from  South  Carolina 
— and  have  no  sense  of  humor,"  chuckled  Brandon. 
"  Egad,  I  believe  he  means  it." 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  Austin. 

"  All  we  Northerners  can  do  is  to  blackball  him," 
laughed  John. 

"  Oh,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  Markoff,"  said  the 
Major.  And  Austin  wondered  who  he  meant. 

"  Well,"  said  Haviland,  as  he  rose,  "  I  must  go. 
I  have  a  sadder  errand.  I  am  going  down  to  Mary 
land.  Old  Mrs  Warfield  is  dead." 

Pinckney  made  no  motion,  but  all  color  left  his 
face.  The  Major  took  up  the  talking. 

"  Yes,  I  know,  Miss  Ravenel's  grandmother. 
The  poor  girl's  left  quite  destitute,  I  fear." 

"  Not  entirely,"  said  John.  "  She  has  a  little 
trust  fund.  Of  course,  she  must  give  up  Ravenel. 
Good-by  to  you." 

"  Good-by,"  said  the  Major. 

"  Good-by,"  said  Austin  Pinckney. 

"  Have  some  brandy  and  soda  with  me,"  said  the 
Major  when  the  other  had  left.  Austin  not  answer 
ing,  he  poured  it  out  himself.  Austin  drained  the 
tumbler.  Then  there  was  a  silence.  The  September 
twilight  came  on  and  the  servants  came  to  light  the 

474 


room ;  they  were  still  in  the  club  committee  room, 
where  Austin  had  found  the  Major;  he  waved  the 
servants  away. 

"  Brandon,  I  must  go  to  Ravenel." 

"Your  wife?" 

"  My  wife  will  be  away — she  is  going  to-morrow 
to  Gansevoort's  house  party." 

The  Major  let  his  glass  crash  to  the  floor. 

"  Your  wife —  He  spoke  slowly.  "  You  let 
her  go  to  Petrus  Gansevoort's?" 

"  I  can  do  nothing.  You  know  I  cannot  pre 
vent  it." 

"  Then  you  can  go  there  too." 

"  I  will  not  go  to  that  man's  house." 

The  Major  knew  when  it  was  useless  to  press  a 
case.  He  responded  only  with  a  long  silence.  And 
then  it  was  with  a  change  of  venue. 

"  My  boy,  do  not  make  me  your  father  confessor 
— but  do  you  think  you  can  do  her  any  good — at 
Ravenel?" 

Austin  did  not  look  back  at  the  Major,  as  he 
walked  away.  And  the  Major  sat  there  alone  in  the 
gathering  twilight.  Austin,  coming  into  the  street, 
felt  his  steps  reel ;  then  he  sought  his  home,  like  any 
wounded  animal  its  hole. 

The  reader  has  been  told — possibly  too  plainly — 
that  his  had  been  a  marriage  of  desire — and  not  of 

475 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  moth  for  the  star.  With  all  his  intellect,  he  had 
never  seen  this  for  himself — only,  in  the  shock  of  the 
first  morning  after,  for  one  moment  he  had  felt,  not 
thought  it — then  Nature,  in  her  normal  purity,  Na 
ture,  which  is  our  polite  term  for  God,  had  wound 
her  green  ivies  around  the  scarred  places  of  his  soul, 
sown  her  balm  of  blossoms  where  the  ruins  crumbled 
into  mold — 

But  to  the  Major,  sitting  there  to-night,  it  had 
all  become  too  plain.  "  God !  "  he  muttered  to  him 
self,  "  they  might  have  come  together  and  parted 
like  any  wedding  of  the  street  corner  for  any  effect 
it  had  on  her — they  might  have  lived  a  week  together 
and  a  few  years  later  Dorothy  would  have  forgotten 
him  had  she  met  him  in  the  street — not  so,  alas !  the 
man.  Had  they  so  met,  so  parted,  she  had  been  the 
same  in  a  week,  in  a  day.  It  had  been  but  a  marriage 
of  the  senses,  with  her  at  least ;  with  him  at  the  worst 
had  been  some  glamour  of  knight-errantry —  And 
he,  the  Major,  old  man  of  the  world,  had  grasped  at 
it  for  the  ideal  of  romance  he  still  had  dreamed 
despite  his  world's  denial.  "  If  only  Gansevoort  had 
been  better  looking !  " 

Yet  all  that  night,  in  Austin's  breast,  the  strug 
gle  went  on.  And  only  with  the  sunrise  came  his 
decision — that  the  Major  was  right.  He  had  not  un 
dressed;  but  now  he  got  into  morning  clothes  and 

476 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

went  out  to  post  the  letter  he  had  written.  He  would 
go  to  Gansevoort's.  Meantime  Dorothy  was  busy 
with  her  ball  dresses. 


LIII 

ALL  the  year  Mrs  Warfield's  health  had  been 
failing.  She  had  not  insisted  on  Mary's 
staying  in  New  York,  so  she  had  given  up  her  classes 
and  stayed  with  her  grandmother  all  winter.  It  had 
been  very  severe;  for  almost  the  first  time  in  their 
records  the  snow  so  banked  up  the  avenue  that  access 
to  the  railway  was  difficult.  She  spent  much  of  the 
time  reading  aloud  to  her  grandmother.  The  faith 
ful  Freddy  wrote  to  her,  Gracie  Haviland  often,  and 
now  Mrs  Rastacq.  From  Austin  she  heard  not  a 
word.  He  was  hard  at  work  at  politics,  devoted  to 
his  child ;  his  wife,  Mamie  wrote,  had  resumed  her 
place  in  the  world  of  fashion. 

With  the  coming  of  the  hot  weather  her  grand 
mother  grew  weaker.  There  was  no  question  of  any 
house  parties  now.  She  could  hardly  have  a  girl 
come  to  stay  as  her  companion.  Miss  Brevier  came, 
for  a  part  of  June;  Miss  Aylwin  for  her  two  weeks' 
vacation  in  August.  Of  her  father  she  had  heard 
nothing  since  his  marriage. 

477  ' 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

She  occupied  herself,  as  was  her  wont,  among  the 
people  of  the  countryside.  She  took  much  comfort 
in  the  Laurel  Run  colony,  and  in  their  gratitude ; 
the  factory  now  was  running  happily  again ;  much 
of  her  time  was  spent  there;  poor  Fritz,  alone,  was 
very  melancholy.  Too  well  aware  that  it  was  her  last 
year  at  Ravenel,  she  took  all  the  old  walks  for  the  last 
time ;  up  through  the  gorge,  to  all  the  summits  of  the 
Laurel  mountains,  through  the  pastures,  by  the  mills. 
Her  heart  seemed  sensitized  to  every  picture. 

Querulously,  sometimes,  the  old  lady  would  now 
speak  of  Mr  Wiston,  of  other  men  she  heard  of. 
Mary  could  only  shake  her  head.  "  I  fear  I  am  not 
a  woman  who  is  likely  to  marry."  It  was  all  she 
would  say.  Who  can  say  what  is  in  a  young  girl's 
heart?  A  woman's,  now,  it  kept  its  secrets,  even 
from  herself.  Certainly,  she  would  have  liked  to  hear 
from  Austin,  from  all  her  friends. 

She  tried  bravely  not  to  feel  that  she  was  lonely. 
But  here  she  had  so  little  work  to  do !  After  all,  it 
was  best,  perhaps,  that  the  life  at  Ravenel  should 
end.  The  old  lawyer,  from  Baltimore,  came  out  one 
afternoon  to  make  Mrs  Warfield's  will.  She  had  little 
to  leave,  said  the  old  lady,  but  she  did  not  propose 
that  Miles  Breese  should  get  any  of  the  family  por 
traits.  The  place  would  have  to  be  sold  as  a  simple 
farm.  One  would  suppose,  sighed  old  lady  Warfield, 

478 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

with  its  beauty,  its  tradition,  its  famous  gardens, 
trees,  it  would  be  just  the  place  for  some  new-made 
millionaire.  But  they  had  other  uses  for  their  money. 
"  Perhaps,"  laughed  Mary,  "  they  fear  that  I  go 
with  the  place."  Neither  one  made  any  secret  of  the 
elder's  coming  end;  she  herself  was  weary  of  the 
world,  the  granddaughter  not  living  in  it. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  think  you 
are  living  in  a  dream."  And  then,  she  might  add 
to  herself,  "  Better  so,  than  like  her  mother."  But 
Mary  was  living  in  no  dream.  On  the  contrary,  she 
thought  herself  hard  at  work  in  the  world.  She  had 
never  seen  the  man  she  liked  so  much  as  Austin  Pinck- 
ney,  that  was  all.  To  her,  marriage  was  the  holiest 
of  sacraments.  Until  it  came  to  her  as  such,  she 
would  wait.  She  neither  despaired  nor  repined.  A 
shallower  nature  might  have  sought  a  convent.  Half 
Catholic  as  she  was,  she  did  not  care  for  convents. 
She  had  things  yet  to  do  in  the  world.  Her  service 
was  perfect  freedom. 

She  knew  that  she  had  been  of  use — to  many  a 
poor  young  girl,  perhaps  even  to  a  more  difficult 
spirit,  to  Miss  Aylwin,  to  Mrs  Rastacq ;  a  little,  alas ! 
to  Dorothy ;  even  as  it  might  please  God,  to  Austin 
Pinckney.  All  was  well,  with  him  and  her,  she  fan 
cied,  now.  But  she  would  not  think  much  about  her 
self.  When  her  grandmother  was  through  with  her, 

479 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

she  would  take  a  book  into  the  garden  and  come  in, 
at  the  sunset,  with  a  face  that  had  looked  on  visions. 
Then  old  lady  Warfield  would  look  at  her  through 
narrowed  eyes.  "  She  is  the  most  beautiful  girl  in 
the  world,"  she  would  mutter  to  herself.  "  That  I 
should  be  alone  to  see  it !  " 

But  old  lady  Warfield  was  not  alone  to  see  it. 
Austin  had  thought  so  for  half  a  lustrum,  and  once 
he  had  trembled  and  grown  hot  and  cold  lest  it  should 
be  seen  of  other  men.  He  had  long  ceased  thinking 
of  this  now ;  it  was  not  her  beauty  that  mattered. 
Marion  Rastacq  thought  so,  but  then  she  loved  Mary 
Ravenel  as  she  loved  nothing  else  in  the  world.  Nobly 
she  strove  to  make  her  marry.  Perhaps  her  beauty 
was  not  of  the  sort  that  attracts  young  men.  Then, 
she  had  no  money ;  and  the  modern  New  York  man 
is  well  under  the  glamour  of  wealth,  has  learned  the 
lesson  to  "  go  where  money  is."  But  even  as  she 
gave  herself  these  reasons,  Mamie  would  laugh  at 
them.  There  were  still  brave  hearts  enough,  not  sub 
dued  to  money-making,  to  beat  for  such  as  Mary 
Ravenel.  Mamie — ten  years  older — would  look  at 
Mary's  eyes  with  a  dumb  worship  that  would  have 
been  funny  had  it  not  been  true.  They  still  had  their 
wonderful  shadowy  blue  of  a  mountain  lake,  now  deep 
azure  as  it  is  ruffled  by  the  wind,  now  shifting  to  pale 
sapphire  as  it  sleeps  at  dawn,  or  even  to  the  dove 

480 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

color  of  a  sky  overcast.  Mamie,  too,  could  study 
her  face — which  Austin  never  could — although  to 
him  the  pure  pale  brow  was  as  the  hope  of  heaven. 
She  was  taller  than  Mamie,  and  as  they  walked  home 
side  by  side  would  fend  aside  the  branches  in  the  wood 
path.  "  They  are  getting  sadly  overgrown,"  she 
said.  To  the  old  negro,  watching  them  from  the 
garden  with  his  rake,  they  seemed  to  close  about  her 
as  she  vanished  in  the  shadow. 

This  was  on  a  day  in  Mamie's  visit,  and  that  night, 
very  quietly,  the  old  lady  died.  Mamie  stayed  on 
several  days ;  the  Havilands  came  down  for  the  fune 
ral;  Major  Brandon  sent  a  kindly  letter;  something 
in  it  changed  Mamie's  plans,  and  she  returned  with 
the  Havilands,  promising  to  come  back  again  after 
keeping  one  necessary  engagement.  "  I  like  Major 
Brandon,"  Mary  had  answered.  She  never  queried 
her  friends'  motives.  Miss  Ravenel  had  also  a  letter 
from  Mr  Pinckney,  but  of  this  she  did  not  speak. 

When  they  were  gone,  Mary  set  herself  in  good 
earnest  to  dismantle  the  house.  No  time  for  weak 
ness  now.  The  pictures  were  taken  down  and  packed, 
the  furniture  for  the  most  part  given  away ;  but  the 
books  were  more  of  a  problem.  It  is  dreary  work, 
looking  over  dusty  old  books.  It  is  dreary  work, 
sitting  in  an  autumn  garret. 

In  the  midst  of  it  the  equinoctial  storm  began. 
481 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  crisp  leaves  rattled  along  the  garden  flags,  the 
rain  descended ;  Mary  had  to  stay  indoors.  No  mat 
ter,  it  was  just  the  day  to  work  in  the  library.  And 
she  was  glad  that  she  was  alone. 

One  can  get  very  tired  reading  the  backs  of  old 
books ;  perhaps  a  little  sad  if  one  opens  them.  It  is 
better  not  to  look  at  the  flyleaves.  Hours  passed, 
and  Miss  Ravenel  still  sat  there.  Now  and  then  she 
would  read  a  little,  but  the  old  bookplates  could  not 
but  remind  her  of  the  hopes  of  those  long  dead.  They 
all  bore  Ravenel  or  Warfield  arms ;  an  early  copy  of 
Walter  Scott  had  underneath  it,  proudly  written, 
"  Guy  Ravenel,  Commodore,  U.  S.  N.,"  with  a  sketch 
of  the  then  new  flag,  the  stars  in  a  circle.  Here, 
too,  were  some  books  of  her  dead  brother's — "  Miles 
Breese,  Jr." — and  the  Gaelic  motto  of  the  Welsh 
ap  Rhys,  who,  emigrating,  had  changed  their  patro 
nymic  to  the  English  Breese.  Here  now  was  another 
book  of  older  fashion — a  quaint  old  copy  of  Ossian. 
She  took  it  down ;  it  had  no  bookplate.  Suddenly 
she  started  with  surprise.  On  the  flyleaf,  in  a  man's 
hand,  was  written,  "  Mary  Ravenel  Warfield,  from 
Charles  Austin  Pinckney,  Newport,  August,  1843." 

As  she  read  the  signature  the  door  opened — she 
had  but  time  to  put  the  book  hastily  down  beside  her 
as  the  old  porter  announced  with  his  simplest  dig 
nity,  "  Mr  Pinckney,  miss." 

482 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

And  pale  and  storm  beaten,  Austin  strode  into 
the  room. 


LIV 


WHEN  the  thought  first  occurred  to  Dorothy 
that  it  was  not  too  late  for  her  to  marry 
Petrus  Gansevoort,  it  had  been  at  Markoff's  house, 
three  years  before.  There  was  much  of  what  the 
Major  would  have  called  the  eternal  feminine  about 
Dorothy ;  of  the  woman  whose  nature  it  is  to  turn 
to  the  strongest,  or,  failing  in  that,  the  richest,  lord. 
She  was  very  impressionable  by  the  splendor  of 
wealth;  very  sensitive  to  what  she  considered  social 
position  and  the  adulation  it  evokes  in  others.  Up 
to  the  morning  after  that  card  party  she  had  formu 
lated  no  plan  ;  her  speech  about  divorce  to  Austin  had 
been  but  a  cri  de  cceur  born  of  the  consciousness  of 
her  regret.  She  had  been  brooding  over  it  for  days. 
How  blind  she  had  been!  Austin  had  just  happened 
to  be  there.  He  had  taken  advantage  of  her  youth, 
her  inexperience.  How  much  more  logical,  to  her 
mature  mind,  it  now  appeared,  to  have  married  the 
duke  (for  Gansevoort  was  quite  the  equal  of  an  Eng 
lish  duke)  even  at  the  risk  of  some  day  taking  Austin 
for  a  lover.  She  would  not  have  minded  being  un 
faithful  to  Pete  Gansevoort,  but  somehow,  even  now, 

483 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

she  could  not  bear  to  be  untrue  to  Austin.  Of  course, 
a  divorce  would  be  different.  That  would  be  no  dis 
honor;  and  they  might  part  friends.  Yet  why  had 
she  ever  married  him !  Silly  girl,  she  had  cared  for 
Austin's  looks — as  if  looks  mattered  in  a  man.  So 
Dorothy  began  to  eat  her  heart  out,  as  a  Satan's 
penitent. 

Then,  to  her  horror,  she  had  become  conscious 
of  the  baby.  It  stopped  everything.  She  had  never 
much  cared  for  children ;  she  certainly  did  not  want 
one  now.  Austin's  happiness  almost  exasperated  her. 
It  was  too  silly.  One  thing,  she  must  see  no  more  of 
Gansevoort  at  present.  Of  course,  a  divorce  would 
now  be  ridiculous.  And  then,  Markoff  had  presumed 
to  make  love  to  her  again — for  the  third  time,  she 
remembered.  True,  she  had  had  to  encourage  him  on 
the  second  occasion,  but  this  time  it  was  in  his  own 
house  and  Gansevoort  was  present.  So  she  had  now 
had  to  snub  him,  and  that  in  Gansevoort's  presence, 
for  a  private  snub  to  Markoff  did  no  good.  True, 
Van  Kull  had  assisted  her,  but  it  was  all  very  unpleas 
ant.  This  was  on  that  very  Sunday  evening  when 
Austin  had  gone  away.  It  had  made  her  longer  stay 
at  Markoff's  house  impossible,  and  on  the  Tuesday 
morning  she  had  left.  With  Major  Brandon  she  had 
come  back  to  New  York — to  find  Austin  absent  at 
Laurel  Run,  the  office  told  her.  For  Markoff  had 

484 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

quietly  lied  to  Austin  about  it ;  he  wished  to  see  on 
what  terms  this  married  couple  stood.  It  was  a  way 
of  finding  out  that  she  did  not  write  to  him.  And 
Dorothy  did  not  know  or  care  where  Laurel  Run 
might  be. 

Gansevoort  had  followed  her.  That  was  the  only 
encouraging  thing  about  it.  But  she  would  not  see 
him,  in  her  present  condition.  She  would  hibernate. 
He  called  at  the  house  in  vain.  So  she  had  awaited 
Austin's  return ;  and,  Austin  more  than  willing,  they 
had  taken  a  house  at  Asheville  for  that  winter. 
There  in  the  following  May  the  baby  had  been  born. 
John  Haviland  was  his  godfather,  and  Armitage  had 
sent  a  cup ! 

The  early  part  of  the  next  summer  had  been  spent 
near  Paris.  Then,  in  August,  with  her  mother  and  sis 
ter,  she  had  returned  to  Newport.  Daisy's  husband 
had  been  pensioned  off,  and  she  now  enjoyed  the  title 
unencumbered.  She  was  a  perfectly  good  mar 
chioness  ;  and,  that  summer  at  Newport,  only  the 
Countess  of  Birmingham  ranked  higher.  A  mar- 
quisate  is  higher  than  an  earldom,  but  somehow  Kitty 
Birmingham  took  precedence;  to  be  sure,  she  was  a 
licensed  beauty.  There  were  no  American  duchesses 
as  yet.  The  following  winter  they  all  spent  abroad ; 
all,  of  course,  except  Austin.  And  then  for  a  second 
summer  they  had  come  to  Newport  again.  They  had 

485 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

now  been  married  seven  years,  and  she  was  not  yet 
twenty-five. 

Austin  had  not  thought  wise  to  oppose  Dorothy 
in  her  plan  of  the  Paris  visits,  though  he  refused  to 
send  the  baby  twice  across  the  Atlantic.  His  aunt 
Austin  welcomed  them  both,  and  even  the  two  nurses, 
in  the  Lenox  house.  Then,  when  his  wife  returned 
each  year,  they  had  joined  her  and  Mrs  Somers  in 
Newport.  Dorothy  always  brought  back  a  trunkful 
of  baby  clothes  from  Paris,  and  Daisy  was  fond  of 
playing  with  the  infant.  Dorothy  did  not  see  why 
Austin  was  so  changed.  It  made  her  nervous  about 
herself,  until  Killian  reassured  her.  Markoff,  too,  was 
more  attentive  than  ever.  She  was  glad  of  that,  he 
entertained  so  much  these  years.  After  all,  his  offense 
had  not  been  of  a  nature  to  cause  Dorothy  to  bear 
malice ;  particularly  as  it  raised  her  in  Gansevoort's 
estimation.  And  at  Markoff's  house  she  always  met 
Gansevoort.  She  could  bewitch  him  still — she  was 
sure  of  that.  Even  his  vanity  had  been  overcome. 
For,  in  the  autumn  of  this  third  year,  had  come  the  in 
vitation  to  the  great  house  party  at  Gansevoort 
manor.  And  she  had  simply  told  her  husband  her  re 
solve  to  go.  She  had  expected  his  refusal,  but  she 
had  hoped  for  threats.  She  would  have  liked  him  to 
strike  her.  He  was  too  blameless  for  this  world. 

Well,  if  he  would  not  get  a  divorce,  she  would. 
486 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

He  was,  she  fancied,  exceptionally  moral ;  but,  in 
Dakota,  desertion  would  do.  She  did  not  dare  con 
sult  Markoff ;  but  she  thought  it  could  be  made  out 
desertion  when  he  let  her  go  alone  to  Paris.  It  was 
well,  though,  that  she  had  come  back  when  she  did. 
Other  women  were  after  Gansevoort,  she  could  see 
that.  Petrus  Gansevoort,  at  forty,  was  all  that  was 
desirable — -matrimonially.  It  was  easy  enough  for 
her  to  get  them  away.  Unmarried  girls  could  not 
venture  where  she  might  go ;  and  there  was  not  a 
married  one  that  stood  a  chance  with  her.  For  with 
her  Gansevoort  had  really  been — was  still,  she  saw 
— in  love. 

Markoff,  she  feared,  saw  through  her  plan. 
Would  he  help  or  hinder  ?  He  might  want — Dorothy 
did  not  so  phrase  it — his  little  commission.  She  was 
sorry  that  she  had  been  so  rude  to  him.  Taking  a 
favor,  he  might  be  trusted  to  lie  about  it ;  and  he  did 
not  want  to  marry  her.  She  knew  he  was  to  be  of 
the  house  party.  Who  else?  The  Austrian  ambas 
sadress,  Kitty  Birmingham,  she  heard ;  and,  to  her 
surprise,  Mamie  Rastacq.  There  were  to  be  no  un 
married  girls ;  that  was  encouraging.  Evidently, 
the  party  was  got  up  for  her !  The  game  was  in  her 
own  hands. 

Then,  to  her  dismay,  Austin  came  home  and  said 
that  he  was  coming  too.  She  had  only  stopped  at  the 

487 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

New  York  house  to  change  her  wardrobe  and  this  had 
happened;  Austin  was  supposed  to  be  in  Lenox. 
There  was  nothing  to  be  said;  he  had  already  tele 
graphed  his  change  of  plan.  ("  D d  impudence," 

growled  Gansevoort  when  he  got  the  dispatch.  Why 
couldn't  he  bastile  the  husband,  as  the  Louis's  did 
— in  the  French  memoirs  he  was  most  familiar  with? 
Gansevoort  had  never  read  Thackeray ;  but  he  felt 
himself  quite  as  above  "  the  attorney  "  as  any  Mar 
quis  of  Steyne.  It  was  rather  a  pity  he  had  not  read 
his  Thackeray,  by  the  way.  He  ought  to  have  known 
something  of  Rawdon  Crawley!) 

Dorothy,  however,  merely  contented  herself  with 
saying  that  she  did  not  like  to  leave  the  baby  alone ; 
to  which  Austin  replied  that  the  nurse  was  trust 
worthy.  Austin  had  been  nurse  to  the  boy  those  last 
three  summers.  So  they  went  up,  with  Mrs  Rastacq 
and  the  English  countess,  in  Gansevoort's  private  car ; 
Markoff  was  expected,  but  to  Austin's  relief  he  sent 
an  explanatory  telegram  that  the  car  might  not  wait ; 
the  only  other  people  were  the  Jimmy  de  Witts  and 
a  dago  prince.  The  present  Mrs  de  Witt,  that  is, 
"  Baby  "  Thomas  geboren,  sometime  Mrs  Ten  Eyck 
and  sometime  Mrs  Malgam;  after  Pussy  de  Witt's 
divorce  she  had  climbed  into  her  place,  and  patronized 
Dorothy  most  insufferably.  The  world  had  been  sur 
prised  at  Jimmy's  marrying  her ;  hardly  more  so  than 

488 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

that  gentleman  himself.  Dorothy  sat  next  Prince 
Castiglione,  while  Austin,  finding  that  the  countess 
was  New  York  born,  tried  to  talk  to  her ;  but  his  mind 
was  elsewhere,  Dorothy  could  see,  and  she  wondered 
why  he  had  come.  She  tried  to  reflect  whether  it 
would  make  any  difference — to  Gansevoort,  that  is. 
On  the  one  hand,  it  might  irritate  him — incite  him 
— though  the  triumph  was  now  so  stale,  the  husband 
might  touch  his  vanity.  But  secretly  she  doubted 
Gansevoort's  courage — well,  she  would  have  to  be 
the  bolder. 

They  had  dinner  on  the  car — unexceptionally 
cooked  and  served — such  things  were  more  real  to 
her  as  she  grew  older.  De  Witt  took  too  much  wine, 
at  which  the  abstemious  Italian  looked  puzzled ;  he 
devoted  himself  to  Mrs  Rastacq,  while  Dorothy  talked 
with  Baby,  so  that,  de  Witt  incapacitated,  the  hand 
some  countess  was  left  for  her  husband.  He  seemed 
to  like  her,  and  Dorothy  felt  glad  of  it ;  he  was  so  in 
sensible  to  other  women!  For  Dorothys,  once  ladies 
of  a  good  man's  heart,  most  tranquilly  assume  their 
ladyship  eternal.  It  would  be  a  comfort,  indeed,  to 
have  him  take  things  more  easily.  And  Dorothy  had 
tried,  and  tried  in  vain,  to  do,  in  her  thoughts,  injus 
tice  to  her  husband.  But  the  countess  might  occupy 
him,  at  all  events ;  and  Dorothy,  when  they  arrived  at 
midnight,  was  careful  not  to  ask  Austin  for  his  help, 
32  489 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

but  accompanied  the  de  Witts  and  Prince  Castiglione 
into  the  first  carriage,  leaving  Austin  to  squire  the 
two  great  ladies  in  the  second.  The  maids  came  after, 
in  an  omnibus. 

Dorothy  was  first  from  the  carriage,  leaving 
Mrs  de  Witt  to  help  her  own  husband ;  she  sprang 
lightly  up  the  great  marble  steps  and  gave  Mr  Gan- 
sevoort  just  the  chance  he  wanted  to  press  her  hand 
and  say  a  particular  word  in  her  ear.  It  was  a  hope 
and  a  regret,  and  she  accepted  both  serenely.  Then 
he  turned  to  the  others  and  apologized  for  not  meet 
ing  them  at  the  train.  "  We  were  still  at  dinner, 
and  my  mother  would  not  hear  of  it."  That  por 
tentous  lady  appeared  to  confirm  his  statement,  and 
Dorothy,  for  the  first  time  in  ten  years,  met  her. 
She  had  been  afraid  of  her  before,  and  she  was  more 
afraid  now.  It  was  evident,  too,  from  the  stately 
chill  of  her  greeting,  that  she  was  an  unwelcome 
guest.  And  Dorothy  bit  her  lip  and  resolved,  now, 
that  she  would  marry  him. 

Mrs  Gansevoort  led  the  countess  to  the  drawing- 
room,  where  the  guests  already  arrived  scanned  the 
newcomers,  still  in  their  traveling  clothes,  with  the 
usual  latent  hostility  that  a  house  party  shows  to 
new  arrivals.  The  others  could  bear  their  gaze  with 
equanimity ;  Dorothy  felt  self-conscious.  She  wished 
now  there  had  been  a  young  girl  or  two,  if  only  as 

490 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  screen.  But  she  felt  relieved  when  she  saw  their 
rooms.  It  was  evident  that  their  host  had  had  his  way 
there.  The  apartment  dedicated  to  the  countess  was 
not  finer. 

The  days,  for  Dorothy,  went  by  on  wings.  Yet 
she  made  rapid  progress.  Even  Markoff  stood  aside. 
Here,  at  last,  was  the  milieu  she  belonged  in.  She  felt 
that  she  was  born  to  be  mistress  of  this  great  house ; 
how  could  she  ever  have  doubted  it?  Petrus  Ganse- 
voort  evidently  thought  so  too.  She  never  looked 
at  him  that  she  did  not  meet  his  eager  eyes.  He  put 
her  next  him  at  dinner  as  often  (he  told  her)  as  he 
dared.  On  the  rides  or  drives — he  preferred  driving 
— she  was  always  his  companion.  She  felt  sure  of 
herself.  Everyone  saw  it.  They  left  him  to  her. 
Only  Mrs  Rastacq  sometimes  interfered. 

She  did  not  encourage  him,  she  did  more;  she 
excited  him.  When  he  ventured  on  flirtation,  she 
drew  back  with  a  sigh.  Then  he  would  become  lyrical. 
Still,  the  days  went  by.  Gansevoort's  mind  was  un- 
inventive.  It  was  a  case  for  a  woman's  contrivance. 

So  it  came  to  the  last  evening  of  their  visit.  The 
others  were  safely  occupied  at  bridge.  She  permitted 
Gansevoort  to  lure  her  to  the  terrace.  It  was  a  warm 
September  evening,  and  the  moonlight  made  it  almost 
as  light  as  day.  She  was  determined  it  should  happen 
now.  He  did  not  seem  to  know  where  to  begin.  An 

491 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

hour  passed,  and  Mamie  Rastacq  came  by  and  saw 
them.  Dorothy  feared  she  would  stay  ;  but,  for  once, 
she  had  the  tact  to  leave  them  alone.  At  last  he  took 
her  hand,  and  this  time  she  did  not  repel  him.  But 
her  delicate  fingers  lay  passively  in  his  clumsy  ones. 
At  last  she  complained  of  the  cold  and  sent  him  for 
a  wrap. 

She  hastily  reflected  what  to  do.  A  curious  recol 
lection  came  over  her  of  that  old  day  with  Austin. 
Only,  she  had  a  doubt  if  she  could  be  moved  to  tears 
— or  this  man  be  moved  by  them.  She  walked  to  a 
darker  place,  above  the  great  marble  steps,  under  the 
glass  roof.  As  she  heard  him  following  her  she  stood 
erect ;  lifting  her  arms  to  the  pillar,  above  her  head, 
she  leaned  a  burning  face  upon  them ;  the  man  ap 
proached  stealthily  and  drew  the  lace  about  her 
shoulders,  about  her  neck — her  hot  cheeks  felt  his 
fingers,  then  his  lips.  She  called  him  by  his  first 
name.  He  sought  her  lips 

"  Darling,  you  must  not — till  we  are  married — " 
But  on  the  word  his  lips  met  hers  and  crushed  them. 

When  she  disengaged  herself,  there  was  a  silence. 
The  man  had  been  trembling ;  he  was  now  panting. 
Finally,  she  had  to  speak. 

"  When  I  get  my  divorce " 

Gansevoort  started.  Then  he  sought  to  clasp  her 
in  his  arms  again.  She  shrank  from  him  still. 

492 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  When  I  have  come  back  from  Dakota." 

"  Dearest,  who  wants  you  to  go  to  Dakota? 
Don't  let  me  lose  these  precious  moments —  When 
your  husband  goes  back  to-morrow " 

Dorothy  had  a  quick  sense  that  her  surrender  had 
placed  her  at  a  disadvantage.  "  When  we  are  mar 
ried " 

"  Kiss  me  again."  Clumsily  he  sought  to  silence 
her.  The  phrasing  stung  her  pride;  she  drew  back 
haughtily.  "  You  are  insulting !  " 

"  Well,"  said  Gansevoort,  abashed —  Then  he 
saw  that  she  was  crying,  and  it  emboldened  him. 
"  Well,  who  spoke  of  marriage  ?  I  wanted  to  marry 
you  once —  Now  I  am  not  a  marrying  man " 

The  horror  of  the  rebuff  made  the  poor  girl 
faint.  Again  he  leaned  over  her.  Helplessly  she  sank 
to  a  chair,  and  he  tried  to  draw  her  to  him — just  as 
Austin  appeared ;  Mamie  Rastacq,  behind  him,  vanish 
ing  back  in  the  doorway. 

There  was  no  explanation — Gansevoort  had  but 
time  to  rise  to  his  feet  when  a  blow  sent  his  heavy  body 
crashing  down  the  marble  steps.  The  sound  attracted 
footmen  from  the  vestibule.  Austin  bade  them  pick 
their  master  up  and  led  his  wife  into  the  house.  And 
then,  in  the  anteroom,  the  first  room  on  their  way  to 
the  bridge  party,  they  found  poor  Mamie  fainting 
on  the  floor.  As  Dorothy  bent  down  to  help  her,  she 

493 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

shrieked ;  she  seemed  to  be  hysterical.  Puzzled,  Aus 
tin  looked  about  him ;  the  servants  were  all  on  the 
terrace  below.  Mamie  shrieked  again.  But,  as  Dor 
othy  bent  over  her  with  smelling  salts,  she  whispered, 
calmly  enough,  "  Have  they  taken  him  away?  " 

"  He  is  not  much  hurt,"  said  Pinckney,  looking 
out.  "  He  is  walking."  Whereupon  Mamie  gave  an 
other  violent  cry.  Sounds  were  heard  from  the  card 
room. 

"  Tell  the  people  I  have  had  a  fainting  fit,  and  a 
fall,"  she  whispered  hurriedly.  "  You  must  take  me 
home,  to  my  own  house,  I  mean." 

At  last  her  cries  attracted  the  other  guests,  who 
came  running  out,  Markoff  the  first.  Mrs  Rastacq 
had  now  become  very  weak.  Austin  had  to  explain 
the  situation.  "  My  heart,"  was  all  poor  Mamie  could 
say,  pressing  her  hand  to  that  organ. 

"  Where  is  Mr  Gansevoort  ?  "  asked  Markoff. 

"  He  is  gone — to  the  village — for  a  doctor,"  said 
Mamie  between  her  gasps.  And  with  much  sympathy 
and  tender  handling  the  fair  lady  was  conveyed  up 
stairs.  She  preferred,  she  said,  to  see  the  medical 
man  in  her  own  room.  Meantime,  she  would  have  only 
Dorothy  attend  her.  So  she  was  left  with  her,  the 
others  hovering  outside.  "  Send  for  your  maid  and 
have  her  pack  your  things,"  she  then  found  a  chance 
to  say.  "  You  must  both  come  home  with  me.  The 

494 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

doctor  will  say  it  is  a  serious  illness,  and  I  must  be 
in  my  own  house.  Call  your  husband  first." 

Still  tearful,  Dorothy  complied.  She  was  glad 
of  the  chance  to  speak  to  Austin ;  so  far,  she  had 
not  dared. 

"  Mr  Pinckney,"  said  Mamie  when  they  both 
came  in,  "  I  saw  it  all.  The  man  is  a  brute,  and  I 
want  you  to  know  your  wife  was  not  to  blame.  But 
you  must  of  course  come  away  with  me." 

Austin  only  bowed  in  silence.  But  coming  out, 
he  saw  that  the  women  had  gone  to  bed  and  the  men 
to  the  billiard  room.  In  the  hall  he  met  the  head  foot 
man  ;  it  was  he  that  had  picked  his  master  up.  Austin 
pressed  a  large  bank  note  in  his  hand. 

"  Tell  Mr  Gansevoort  to  drive  to  the  village  for 
a  doctor,"  said  he.  "  We  are  going  by  the  early 
train." 

The  man  bowed  respectfully. 

In  two  hours  they  were  out  of  the  house. 


LV 


IT  would  have  seemed  a  strange  relation  that  found 
these  three  together,  but  that  a  man  in  the  world 
gets  over  considering  strange  relations.     The  Eng 
lish,  say  the  French,  have  a  horror  of  defined  situa- 

495 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tions ;  if  so,  it  is  a  feminine  trait  in  them  ;  for  women, 
good  and  evil,  the  best  perhaps  the  most,  shrink  from 
defining  them.  But  to  Mrs  Rastacq,  after  all,  it  was 
a  situation  that  concerned  only  the  others ;  the  only 
embarrassment  was  conversational.  Dorothy  was 
probably  beyond  the  stage  of  embarrassment ;  her 
silence  betokened  a  new  humility.  And  Austin,  to 
Mrs  Rastacq's  surprise,  it  may  be  admitted,  was  the 
least  self-conscious  of  the  three.  So  it  was  entirely 
without  embarrassment  that  he  found  himself  in  the 
attitude  of  employing  Mamie  in  the  capacity  of 
spiritual  trained  nurse  to  his  wife. 

Austin  had  not  seen  all  that  happened;  he  had 
only  seen  enough  to  infer  Gansevoort  the  aggressor ; 
but  such  aggression  implies  provocation.  Naturally 
he  had  overheard  nothing  of  the  conversation,  nor 
would  he  have  condescended  to  do  so  had  the  oppor 
tunity  offered.  Mamie  was  perhaps  less  chivalrous 
and  better  informed;  but  she  loyally  reiterated  the 
view  that  Pinckney  naturally  accepted.  Dorothy's 
thoughts  may  not  yet  be  formulated.  Mrs  Rastacq 
had  to  keep  up  the  conversation. 

The  sun  rose  even  as  they  were  driving  through 
Gansevoort's  splendid  park.  Not  content  with  the 
old  domain  of  the  manor  he  had  expropriated  the 
tenants  of  some  thousands  of  acres,  which  his  ances 
tors  had  been  content  to  let  as  farming  land,  and 

496 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

handed  it  over  to  his  foresters  and  landscape  gar 
deners;  enabled  easily  to  bear  the  expense  of  thus 
laying  waste  a  hundred  farms  by  the  increment  of 
rental  of  some  dozens  of  the  blocks  he  owned  in  New 
York  City.  Dorothy  had  marveled  at  the  splendor 
of  it  the  day  before ;  to-day  she  looked  at  the  valleys 
and  hills,  the  blazing  shrubbery  and  scarlet  woods, 
with  dulled  eyes,  color  blind.  Austin  appeared  to  be 
quite  indifferent  to  his  surroundings.  Even  Mrs 
Rastacq  did  not  think  it  in  good  taste  to  admire  them. 

On  the  train,  it  was  better;  they  found,  in  the 
Pullman,  an  empty  compartment  and  had  coffee. 
Austin  had  sternly  refused  to  order  any  refreshment 
at  Gansevoort  Manor.  But  Mamie  had  ordered  some 
thing  in  her  own  room  and  called  in  Dorothy  to  share 
it.  Her  interview  with  the  doctor  had  been  private. 
Doctors  have  to  tell  many  lies. 

Austin  had  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief  as  they  drove 
under  Gansevoort's  great  gates ;  before  them  was  the 
railway  station,  the  open  road;  he  had  just  had  time 
to  telegraph  Miss  Austin ;  then,  after  their  coffee, 
he  had  found  an  empty  compartment,  and  smoked 
and  watched  the  pleasant  country  rolling  by.  It  may 
already  be  doubted  whether  Petrus  Gansevoort  was 
uppermost  in  his  mind. 

Then,  at  noon,  they  came  to  Albany  and  had  to 
change  into  a  local  train.  There  Mrs  Rastacq  wrote 
33  497 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  long  telegram  to  Mrs  Gansevoort ;  the  old  lady, 
fortunately,  had  been  safely  in  bed  at  the  time; 
Mamie  bade  Austin  send  it  and  asked  him  to  read  it 
as  he  did  so.  "  Am  bearing  the  journey,  but  shall 
not  be  able  to  write  for  some  days."  And  at  her  own 
station,  where  her  carriage  met  them,  Austin  got  an 
answer  to  his  telegram  to  his  aunt.  "  Baby  very  well, 
of  course  send  Dorothy  up  at  once."  He  showed  it 
to  Mrs  Rastacq.  Mamie  said  that  she  thought  Dor 
othy  had  better  be  a  few  days  with  her.  Antoine, 
fortunately,  was  off  yachting. 

Dorothy  was  taken  to  her  room  and  given  tea, 
and  her  maid  left  in  charge ;  then  Mamie  went  to 
Austin  downstairs.  She  found  him  still  in  his  over 
coat,  his  portmanteau  at  the  front  door.  "  I  have 
ventured  to  detain  your  coachman,"  he  said.  "  I 
must  go  on  to  New  York  to-night." 

Mamie  looked  at  him,  ready  to  demur  ;  his  attitude 
was  not  demurrable.  She  was  rather  afraid  of  him. 
Then,  in  her  quick  mind,  she  reflected ;  anything  was 
better  than  an  eclair •cissement.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  I 
will  take  care  of  Dorothy." 

"  She  ought  to  go  to  Lenox  as  soon  as  pos 
sible." 

"  You  know,"  said  Mamie  demurely,  "  I  must  get 
well  first.  But  as  soon  as  the  doctor  will  let  me  travel. 
I  could  take  her  over  in  the  new  machine.  It  has  just 

498 


come  from  Paris  and  Antoine  says  will  travel  thirty 
miles  an  hour.  Where  shall  you  be?  " 

"  I  shall  stay  about  New  York  for  a  few 
days " 

"  You  know,  I  don't  think  you  are  likely  to  hear 
from  Mr  Gansevoort — 

"  Well,  I  shall  be  at  the  office." 

"  And  then  come  up  to  Lenox  ?  " 

"  Perhaps."  Again  Mamie  Rastacq  looked  at 
Austin  and  again  decided  it  was  best  to  give  him  time. 

But  to  Austin,  speeding  in  the  warm  sunset  down 
the  river  bank,  the  events  of  the  week  might  have  been 
the  events  of  ten  years  before.  He  had  gone  through 
with  it ;  and  now  it  was  over.  He  was  no  longer  anx 
ious  about  his  wife.  Another  care  lay  deeper  at  his 
heart,  an  anxiety  to  which  no  step  of  his  own  could 
bring  relief.  And  it  was  this  anxiety  that  now  re 
curred.  His  hands  were  bound.  She  might  be  suffer 
ing  and  he  could  not  help  her,  starving  and  he  could 
not  succor  her,  perishing  and  he  could  not  save. 
Worse  than  all,  she  might  be  in  sorrow — and  he 
might  not  even  know  it.  He  had  written  his  one  let 
ter  ;  that  was  all  he  might  do.  It  was  now  three  years 
since  he  had  spoken  to  her;  it  might  be  longer  still 
ere  he  saw  her  again.  He  crushed  the  evening  paper 
in  his  hand ;  then  set  himself  to  read  the  news. 

499 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Coming  to  New  York,  he  asked  for  the  Havilands  ; 
they  were  away.  He  went  to  his  club :  not  even  the 
Major  was  there.  None  of  her  friends  were  there, 
not  even  Radnor ;  Gresham  never  left  home  at  night. 
He  might  go  to  the  Piccadilly  and  find  Wiston ;  but 
Freddy  Wiston  was  the  one  person  of  all  of  whom 
Austin  dared  not  ask  about  Mary  Ravenel.  And 
once  more  his  inability  to  aid,  his  exclusion  from  her 
very  presence,  came  over  his  heart  as  with  the  weight 
of  guilt.  Then,  furiously,  the  man  would  rebel ;  what 
had  he  done,  what  had  any  true  thing  wrought,  that 
he  of  all  the  beings  upon  earth  should  be  denied  a 
place  at  her  side?  Then  he  went  over  every  word 
Brandon  had  said,  that  she  was  very  poor,  that  she 
must  earn  her  living.  God !  What  place  could  she 
take?  Miss  Aylwin  earned  her  living  well  enough, 
but  she  could  not  do  Miss  Aylwin's  work.  Restlessly 
he  turned  upon  his  bed.  He  would  speak  to  Miss 
Aylwin  in  the  morning.  No,  he  could  not  speak  to 
Miss  Aylwin.  He  would  write  to  her  again.  No ; 
what  could  he  say?  He  would  confide  in  John  Havi- 
land.  No,  that  would  cut  off  the  one  rarely  trodden 
path  that  still  led  from  his  way  to  hers.  Oh,  God 
help  her!— and  God  bless  her — and,  at  dawn,  he 
slept. 

He  made  no  pretense  of  writing  to  Dorothy,  but 
was  at  his  old  office  early.  Yes,  Miss  Aylwin  was 

500 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

there,  but  she  was  leaving  that  very  day.  He  tried 
in  vain  to  frame  a  question  to  the  girl,  for  he  knew 
she  corresponded  with  her ;  he  might  better  ask  even 
of  Gresham,  who  had  her  affairs  in  charge.  He  knew 
her  Baltimore  lawyer ;  but  if  he  wrote  to  him  he  would 
be  almost  sure  to  reply  to  Gresham.  He  wondered 
who  was  at  Ravenel  with  her ;  there  must  surely  be 
some  one;  but  it  was  not  Miss  Aylwin,  nor  Mamie, 
nor  (for  he  called  on  her  to  see)  Miss  Brevier.  But 
there,  at  Miss  Brevier's,  he  was  rewarded  by  the  bless 
ing  of  hearing,  at  last,  her  name.  She  said  to  him 
that  Miss  Ravenel  was  still  at  her  home  in  Maryland, 
not  very  well,  she  thought.  And  so  another  night 
went  by. 

Not  very  well?  If  she  were  ill,  might  he  not  write 
to  her  again  ?  He  would  ask  Mr  Gresham  now.  That 
gentleman  had  not  heard  of  her  being  ill.  Oh,  as  to 
her  situation,  she  had  the  income  of  the  Allegheny 
stock,  of  course.  Then  the  place  ought  to  sell  for 
something  above  the  mortgages.  Austin  made  pre 
text  of  some  further  business  to  account  for  his  call. 
He  was  now  District  Attorney  of  New  York;  of 
course  his  name  no  longer  appeared  in  the  firm, 
though  he  meant  to  rejoin  them  when  his  term  was 
over ;  and  on  the  way  out  he  stopped  for  a  word  with 
Miss  Aylwin.  It  was  a  Friday,  and  he  telephoned 
his  official  office ;  there  was  nothing  to  be  done  there ; 

501 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  assistants  were  amply  able  to  care  for  the  few 
cases  that  came  up,  the  quo  warrantos,  the  routine, 
the  preparation  of  evidence;  it  was  the  first  of  Octo 
ber,  and  most  of  the  courts  were  in  vacation. 

That  forty-eight  hours  in  New  York  City  had 
seemed  interminable ;  yet  what  should  he  do  ?  They 
were  but  the  first  of  a  myriad  such  hours.  He  would 
not  go  back  to  Mrs  Rastacq's ;  next  week,  he  might 
go  to  Lenox,  but  not  now.  O  God,  if  only  one  look, 
one  sign,  might  go  from  him  to  her! 

He  was  back  at  their  empty  house.  He  could  not 
stay  there.  He  must  "  arise  and  go  " — go  some- 
wheres,  if  not  for  peace,  at  least  for  refuge.  He 
bethought  himself  of  a  shooting  club  near  Hatteras, 
still  likely  to  be  untenanted  at  that  season ;  and  bid 
ding  the  man  servant  pack  his  guns,  contented  him 
self  with  throwing  in  clothes  and  a  few  books.  They 
were  some  of  his  father's  books,  that  his  sisters, 
rather  than  divide,  had,  not  long  since,  come  to  the 
conclusion  should  all  be  his. 

Again  twenty-four  hours  on  the  rail.  The  au 
tumn  was  coming  on,  the  day  the  first  of  those  that 
are  dull  and  cheerless ;  as  they  rolled  through  Mary 
land  a  rain  began ;  he  would  not  look  out  of  the  win 
dows,  and  he  had  nothing  to  read ;  he  could  be  inter 
ested  in  no  book,  and  newspapers  seemed  trivial. 
At  Washington,  in  the  morning,  he  sent  some  tele- 

502 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

grams;  there  the  long  journey  began  over  again; 
the  clayey  roads,  the  squalid  cabins  of  Virginia,  the 
barren  pine  groves,  the  swamps,  the  cancbrakes  of 
North  Carolina.  Then  there  was  a  ten  miles'  drive 
with  the  old  negro,  in  the  wagon ;  Austin  was  con 
scious  that  he  spoke  to  him  of  floats  and  dogs,  but 
answered  at  haphazard.  He  had  his  dinner,  and  sat 
alone  before  the  great  pitch-pine  fire ;  fortunately, 
there  was  no  one  else ;  why  had  he  come?  The  notion 
of  a  day  immovable,  even  in  those  lonely  waters,  be 
came  intolerable;  he  took  the  bundle  of  his  father's 
books — odd  forgotten  volumes  they  seemed  to  be — 
"  Aurora  Leigh,"  a  "  Festus,"  an  "  Ossian  " — books 
once  alive  with  passion,  now  burned  out — even  to 
Victor  Hugo's  "  Rayons."  He  chose  the  "  Ossian," 
and  opened  it  idly.  The  inscription  on  the  fly  leaf 
attracted  his  attention — it  was  in  a  feminine  hand 
writing,  a  name  that  stilled  his  heart — "  Mary  Rav- 
enel  Warfield."  Below  there  was  a  faint  penciling 
in  a  strong  hand  that  he  recognized  as  his  father's, 
"  July  20,  1843."  And  then  the  surge  of  his  emo 
tions  flooded  his  heart,  and  his  will  was  drowned — 

The  storm  was  increasing  at  dawn,  as  the  puzzled 
negro  drove  him  back  through  the  canebrakes.  In 
his  agony  lest  he  might  miss  the  north-bound  train, 
they  had  started  early — for  he  had  not  been  to  bed 

503 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

— and  now  it  was  reported  late,  and  he  had  some  hours 
to  pace  the  deserted  platform.  The  pulse  of  destiny 
still  shook  the  foundations  of  the  world.  But  he 
knew  that  he  would  be  a  slave  no  longer — the  will 
that  had  willed  this  thing  to  happen  had  now  an 
other  will  to  deal  with — nor  should  the  stream  of 
Fate  swallow  up  his  heart  without  a  cry — nor  now 
should  all  the  powers  of  good  avail  to  make  him  hide 
his  self  from  hers.  She  should  see  his  soul:  it  was 
then  hers  to  save  or  cast  aside ;  not  all  the  reasoning 
of  all  the  rabbis  would  now  serve  to  show  his  heart 
it  was  its  duty  not  to  speak  its  love — the  consequences 
were  for  her  and  God.  This  thing  had  so  been  willed ; 
and  the  errand  of  his  own  life,  be  it  eternal  or  be  it 
but  a  span,  was  yet  to  be  performed.  God  grant  him 
but  this  one  more  day.  When  he  had  told — 

No  longer  restless,  no  longer  madly  drifting,  he 
had  found  tranquillity.  He  opened  his  "  Ossian  " 
again — he  had  devoured  it  in  the  night — only  to  find 
that  he  knew  the  poor  tinkling  thing  by  heart — yet 
a  refrain  would  ring  in  his  memory — there  was  some 
thing  simple,  elemental — some  echo  of  a  crying  heart 
— and  it  was  splendidly  out  of  doors ! 

"  I  will  sit  on  the  top  of  the  hill  of  winds — 
But  morning  rose  in  the  east ;  the  blue  waters  rolled  in 

light; 
Fingal  bade  his  sails  arise — " 

504 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  bits  that  were  true  he  had  taken ;  the  rest  'he 
threw  away.  "  Aurora  Leigh  " — he  was  impatient  of 
"  Aurora  Leigh  " — "  Festus  "  was  sophomoric.  Yet 
some  one  had  loved  it  once.  One  thousand  eight  hun 
dred  and  forty-three — his  father  had  been  hardly 
twenty-five!  He,  Austin,  to-day  was  nearly  forty 
— and  she  was  thirty.  After  all,  what  did  the  poem 
matter?  His  eyes  had  softened  over  the  Florentine: 

"  Questi,  che  mai  da  me  non  fia  diviso — 

the  simpler  fifties  had  hardly  understood  it — over 
Jacobo  Lentino  and  his  lady  in  heaven : 

"  I  have  it  in  my  heart  to  serve  God,  so 
That  into  Paradise  I  shall  repair — 
Without  my  lady  I  were  loth  to  go — " 

Mr  Philip  James  Bailey  of  the  Middle  Temple, 
barrister  at  law,  had  thought  it  blasphemous.  Yet 
there  had  been  no  one — no  one  surely  since  the  Ital 
ians — who  had  loved  as  he  did  now.  Austin  won 
dered  if  his  father  had  ever  cared  for  Mary's  mother. 
Then  he  found  himself  wondering  when,  with  him,  it 
had  first  begun — there  was  time  enough  to  wonder, 
that  long  day.  Had  it  not  always  been?  Had  not 
his  heart  done  its  homage,  unconsciously,  even  before 
his  meeting  with  her  ?  Had  he  not  been  almost  ship- 

505 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

wrecked  that  it  had  lost  faith  in  her  existence?  He 
had  only  known  it  that  first  day  at  Laurel  Run — but 
it  had  been,  long  before.  His  eyes  had  first  seen  her 
on  that  evening  when  his  soul  was  being  drowned — 
that  very  day  her  eyes  had  saved  him — but  it  was 
really  from  that  rainy  day  at  John's,  he  thought. 
Then,  it  began.  He  now  knew  that,  since  then,  he 
had  thought  of  her  always.  Her  face  had  been  with 
him  in  the  loneliness  of  the  desert,  in  the  loneliness 
of  crowds  ;  the  strong  spirit  of  the  morning  was  hers, 
and  the  sadness  of  the  sunset,  and  the  wakeful  watches 
of  the  night.  How  often  her  eyes  had  made  a  shining 
through  his  dreams !  and  he  would  wake,  with  a  cry 
that  she  was  going  from  him  to  be  seen  no  more ;  and 
as  he  lay  awake  at  the  dawn  all  laws  of  God  or  man 
would  be  as  cobwebs  to  his  sorrow  and  the  power  of 
it  freezing  in  his  heart. 

This  was  the  ultimate  nature  of  his  being ;  to 
follow  her — as  drop  of  water  blends  in  drop  of  water, 
as  frost  rends  rock.  Let  him  then  follow  out  his  law 
as  other  creatures  of  the  gods  do  theirs ;  as  gravita 
tion  has  no  conscience,  should  he  be  weaker  than  a 
drop  of  water,  a  soulless  molecule,  because  he  was 
conscious  and  a  man? 

And  if  he  were  God's  creature?  Well,  the  sin, 
if  sin  there  should  be,  would  be  his.  Oh,  he  would 
pay.  Better  his  own  damnation  than  the  regret  in 

506 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

heaven  that  he  had  not  told —  He  would  pay.  As 
to  sin,  it  had  got  beyond  the  point  of  mattering — 
Of  one  great  duty  he  had  felt  released —  Of  treason, 
dishonor,  his  conscience  felt  no  guilt.  Hurt  her? — 
he  would  not  hurt  a  hair  of  her  head.  But  that  was 
her  affair ;  she  would  know  the  right ;  but  she  must 
know. 

So  these  were  all  his  thoughts — if  they  were 
thoughts ;  it  was  no  day  for  thinking ;  nor  did  he 
read  his  books ;  he  watched  the  gloomy  cane  fields  in 
the  rain.  Never  had  he  been  so  sure  of  himself,  never 
so  sure  of  what  he  should  do.  He  did  not  have  to 
think  about  it ;  he  was,  against  all  seeming,  at  peace 
with  the  world ;  his  decision  had  the  calmness  of  a 
process  of  nature.  It  was  his  day  for  action.  But 
he  did  not  even  think  this ;  he  watched  the  slanting 
spears  of  sleet — 

"come  fiocche,  large  e  distente," 

the  shiver  of  the  dry  canes,  the  whirl  and  worry  of 
the  red-brown  leaves ;  then  it  grew  warmer,  the  rain 
fell  once  more  in  drops ;  the  train  boy  came  through 
with  newspapers.  He  did  not  want  a  newspaper,  so 
he  took  up  his  books  again — his  hand  fell  upon  the 
Hugo — "  Les  Rayons  et  les  Ombres  " — "  Paris  4 
Mai,  1840  " — with  the  pompous  preface — "  Un 

507 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

poete  a  ecrit  le  Paradis  perdu ;  un  autre  poete  a  ecrit 
les  tenebres — 

How  turgid — sometimes  to  even  silliness ;  the 
"  Holyrood " 

"  Amours  !  Darnley  !  Rizzio  !  quel  neant  est  le  votre  ! 

Tous  deux  sont  la,  1'un  pres  de  1'autre  ; 
L'un    est   une    ombre,   et   1'autre    une   tache    au    plan- 
cher — " 

A  spot  on  the  floor — only  a  Frenchman  with  no 
sense  of  humor  could  have  written  that 

"Cette  hospitalite  melancolique  et  sombre 
Qu'on  re9oit  et  qu'on  rend  de  Stuarts  a  Bourbons — " 

This  made  his  thought  leap  to  the  old  house  at 
Ravenel.  He  looked  at  the  fly  leaf  once  more — by 
the  light  of  day  the  penciled  writing,  though  faint 
and  fine,  was  even  clearer — only  one  name  was  in 
this  book — "  Mary  Ravenel  "  — he  read  no  farther 
there.  This  was  the  old  lady  he  had  known !  But 
turning  to  the  text  again : 

"  La  creation  est  sans  haine — " 

The  line  made  him  "  sit  up,"  as  we  should  say — 
Hugo,  French  of  Frenchmen,  the  genius  and  the 
poseur  side  by  side,  could  yet  write  this — and  this: 

508 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Malheur  a  qui  dit  a  ses  freres  : 
Je  retourne  dans  le  desert — 
Et  s'en  va,  chanteur  inutile. 
Par  la  porte  de  la  cite — " 

— but  his  mind  refused  to  look  beyond  the  gate  of 
the  city —  He  was  in  the  city,  or  to  leave  it,  as  she 
willed. 

Another  night  came  on,  the  day  still  rainy,  but 
now  again  growing  warm.  And  at  the  dawn  he  got 
out  at  Washington. 

There  was  no  train  to  Frederick  till  the  after 
noon  ;  and  he  could  bear  no  rest.  The  Laurel  hills 
were  foothills  of  the  South  Mountain  range.  He 
stopped  at  the  stable  he  had  used  in  Washington  and 
asked  the  distance  to  Mount  Airy.  The  man  doubted 
if  he  had  a  horse  who  would  carry  him  there  be 
tween  feeds.  "  How  about  this  one?  "  and  Austin 
pointed  at  a  handsome  chestnut  that  had  not  been 
shown  him.  He  was  only  for  sale,  it  appeared;  so 
Austin  bought  him,  and  by  eight  was  out  upon  the 
Rock  Creek  road.  The  rain  had  nearly  ceased,  the 
wind  was  falling,  and  the  storm  was  growing  gen 
tler;  it  was  quite  warm.  The  roads  of  course  were 
heavy,  but  no  frost  had  come  to  put  them  at  their 
worst. 

Up  the  valley  of  Rock  Creek  he  followed  and  then 
struck  over  to  the  Patuxent.  He  saved  his  horse ; 

509 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

for  he  was  determined  to  arrive.  At  noon  there  was 
a  shift  of  wind  and  a  driving  rain,  this  time  from 
the  southward.  He  pressed  on,  for  the  storm  was 
behind  him.  At  Mount  Airy  he  stopped  for  dinner. 
The  brave  horse  was  fed;  he  gave  him  two  hours. 
At  three  he  started  once  more.  The  distance  now 
was  not  great.  He  put  the  horse  to  a  gallop.  At 
last  they  came  to  Ravenel.  "  The  thistle  shook  there 
its  lonely  head :  the  moss  whistled  to  the  wind  " — 
after  all,  it  was  "  Ossian's  "  lines  which  recurred  to 
his  memory. 

The  great  trees  were  tossing  their  denuded  arms 
and  the  Laurel  Run  was  in  spate,  as  he  turned  into 
the  long  avenue.  Old  trees  first  seem  to  feel  the  fall ; 
the  stream,  swollen  with  autumn  rains,  was  the  color 
of  a  lion's  mane.  He  rode  first  to  the  stable,  where 
he  found  the  old  servant  and  stalled  his  horse;  then 
he  paced  up  and  down  the  flagged  terrace  before  the 
house,  while  the  ancient  negro  went  through  the  arch 
way  and  in  by  the  servants'  door.  Austin  looked 
down  over  the  gentle  valley — he  had  seen  it  thrice 
only,  yet  he  knew  its  every  feature  better  even  than 
the  old  German  park  his  childhood  had  played  in. 
Rose  leaves  were  falling  by  his  feet.  In  a  very  few 
seconds,  it  seemed,  the  front  door  was  swung  open ; 
the  white-haired  negro,  now  a  butler,  reappeared. 
Austin  followed  into  the  library  he  knew  so  well. 

510 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOtJL 

The  old  man  announced  his  name  and  left  them  to 
gether. 

As  he  came  in,  Miss  Ravenel,  who  had  been  read 
ing,  sprang  up,  throwing  her  book  aside — even  then 
Austin  noticed  that  it  was  an  "  Ossian,"  and  in  a 
binding  like  his  own.  She  was  erect  now  and  facing 
him.  Pinckney  paused  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 
Once  more  he  saw  her.  He  looked  one  moment  in 
her  face ;  then  he  began : 

"  I  came,  because  I  was  so  grieved  to  hear — 
His  voice  was  grave  and  low.     Each  paused  a  long 
time  between  their  speeches. 

"  You  are  very  good — friend " 

"  But  it  is  not  only  that.     I  had  to  say " 

The  woman's  face  turned  a  shade  whiter,  but  she 
made  no  effort  to  stop  him.  The  Ravenels  had  wills, 
and  respected  the  wills  of  others — or  else  she  saw 
that  now,  in  this  moment,  of  time,  it  was  decreed 
from  all  eternity  that  these  words  should  be  spoken. 
Her  mind  held  still  her  heart  one  moment — then  she 
willed  to  hear  them. 

Austin  paused.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  could 
not  breathe,  in  the  room.  The  air — the  walls  drew 
in  too  close. 

"  Will  you  come  into  the  garden  ?  " 
Miss  Ravenel  took  her  hat  from  the  hall  chair, 
and  a  light  fur;  as  Austin  stood  aside,  she  led  the 

511 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

way  through  the  great  garden  window,  by  the  con 
servatory.  Since  the  friend,  she  had  said  no  other 
word.  In  the  garden,  all  the  wind  had  stilled.  The 
storm  had  ended,  and  from  the  box  and  myrtle  came 
the  warm  afterbreath  as  of  a  summer  rain.  Miss 
Ravenel  led  the  way,  but  he,  coming  into  the  little 
quadrangle,  turned  aside  to  the  old  dial,  so  that,  as 
she  turned  to  face  him,  they  were  some  yards  apart. 
Then  he  spoke.  "  I  had  to  say — what  I  have  to  say, 
and  shall  always  have  to  say — that  I  love  you,  and 
have  always  loved  you,  and  shall  always  love  you." 
It  had  been  said.  And  he  did  not  alter  his  standing 
or  his  looking;  he  neither  changed  nor  withdrew  his 
gaze;  he  only  waited.  And  still  Miss  Ravenel  was 
silent. 

But  on  this  day  the  man  looked  full  at  her,  looked 
into  her  eyes.  She  was  too  brave  to  drop  them.  And 
as  they  stood  there,  face  to  face,  in  the  little  garden, 
one  might  have  fancied  a  suggestion  of  duello  in  their 
attitudes.  Then  he  went  on. 

"  If  you  so  wish,  I  shall  never  ask  you  of  your 
self,  but  you  shall  now  know  of  me.  You  are  all  that 
there  is  to  me  in  this  world  or  the  next.  And  if — " 
one  moment  his  voice  faltered — "  if  you  blame  me — 
Miss  Ravenel — no  man  has  ever  loved  as  I  do  you." 
Now  he  stopped  and  would  be  silent.  Again  he 
waited.  Still  she  did  not  speak.  Afterwards,  he 

512 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

remembered  that  birds  were  singing  softly ;  there 
was  a  ray,  through  the  long  grass,  from  the  declining 
sun  ;  nature  was  at  truce,  above  the  high  green  garden 
walls. 

At  last,  slowly,  she  dropped  her  eyes  to  the  old 
stone  dial — to  the  ground.  She  had  not  looked  at 
him.  Her  gaze  was  introspective.  Now  she  turned. 
"  Had  it  to  be  told?  "  She  spoke  very  low;  but  he 
would  have  heard  the  words  a  mile  away. 

"  It  is  written  that  it  should  be  told — "  If  he 
took  one  step  toward  her,  he  checked  it.  "  It  is  writ 
ten  in  that  book  you  had  there."  She  turned  a  shade 
paler.  He  went  on : 

"  This,  you  once  said,  was  your  world — Mary,  it 
is  ours.  There  is  but  one.  If  you  bid  me  go,  I  go. 
But  I  pray  you,  let  me  go  with  you.  I  shall  love  you 
no  less  when  we  are  gone  from  earth — 

Her  silence,  now,  drove  him  to  impetuous  speech. 

"  I  had  said  the  sin  was  mine,  but  that  there  is 
no  sin.  My  wife  has  absolved  me  from  all  bonds. 
I  need  not  tell  you  why,  but  it  is  so.  She  is  lost.  If 
my  child  grows  up  with  her,  he  is  lost.  We  shall  not 
injure  her." 

"  A  woman  is  never  lost  so  long  as  a  man  cares 
for  her." 

The  man  shook  it  aside. 

"  We  can  be  happy  where  we  will.  Or  we  can 
513 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

choose  not  to  be  happy.     Before  God,  our  lives  are 
our  own.     She  wishes  to  leave  me.     A  divorce 

"  Do  you  think  what  a  man  said  in  a  court  room 
would  make  a  difference — to  you  and  I?  " 

Then  first  the  rush  of  Austin's  will  encountered 
— oh,  so  gently ! — her  own.  Yet  there  was  a  pride 
in  the  /.  To  the  challenge,  his  own  faith  responded. 
True,  no  divorce  would  absolve  them.  Let  them  break 
God's  law  if  they  would ;  it  was  not  the  way  of  such 
as  they  were  to  make  a  shelter  of  the  statutes  of  man. 
If  God  forbade  their  coming  together,  no  human  law 
might  license  it.  Yet  urgently  he  returned,  shifting 
his  lance,  to  the  charge. 

"  Then  let  us  break  with  it.  You  and  I  have  other 
work  elsewhere  in  the  world  than  in  Newport  or  Fifth 
Avenue — where  they  hide  behind  conventions.  Right 
or  wrong,  we  are  not  such  as  they  are.  Miss  Ravenel, 
I  would  leave  it  all — and  work  among  the  people — 
Very  gently  again  she  replied : 

"  Do  you  think  that  we  are  put  here — you  and 
I  "  (again  she  insisted  on  the  pronouns,  with  some 
divination  that  they  heartened  him) — "  Do  you  think 
that  we  are  placed  here,  you  and  I,  to  show  that  path 
to  our  people?  " 

"  They  need  never  know,"  murmured  Austin. 
And  then,  "  The  sin  be  mine."  And  then,  as  he  saw 
her,  like  a  vision,  grow  distant,  his  pulses  shook  and 

514 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

he  trembled.  Yet  not  one  moment  was  he  moved  to 
so  much  as  touch  her  hand.  The  love  that  he  felt 
for  her  went  by  all  earthly  love.  She  seemed  to  know 
this  and  she  dared. 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  a  sin  that  you  have  spoken. 
But  now " 

Then  Austin  strode  toward  her — but  stopped  at 
a  few  feet.  His  empty  hands  were  trembling  con 
vulsively.  She  let  him  speak. 

"  It  was  always,  always — from  that  night  of  the 
music,  that  day  of  the  rain —  Miss  Ravenel,  I  was 
not  living  until  then.  Let  me  then  stay  near  you, 
and  stay  apart — let  me  but  see  you —  No,  no,  I  love 
you  so." 

Her  sad  smile  had  already  brushed  this  aside.  At 
his  last  words  she  had  seen  the  noble  way. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  Listen."  One  moment  she 
fixed  her  eyes  on  the  distant  sky  line;  there  was  a 
blue  rim  beneath  it  now.  The  man  waited.  And  now 
she  turned  her  eyes,  albeit  slowly,  full  upon  him.  And 
their  light  was  in  his  soul. 

"  Think  what  you  would  have  me  be.  And  if — 
if  you  would  have  me 

Then  there  was  a  long  silence.  The  man  had 
thrown  himself  to  the  ground.  It  was  near  where 
she  stood ;  but  it  was  with  no  gesture  of  throwing 
himself  at  her  feet;  and  the  woman  looked  at  him 

515 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

very  gently,  for  he  was  telling  the  truth.  So  he 
knelt,  and  she  looked  down  at  him.  Very  gently,  for 
he  had  spoken  true.  Louder,  now,  the  robins  were 
singing;  for  the  setting  sun  gleamed  on  the  rain 
drops. 

Then  after  quite  a  little  time  the  man  arose. 

"  If  I  am  to  go  now,"  he  said  very  simply,  "  I 
would  like  you  to  walk  with  me,  up  the  brook  where 
we  went  that  day —  I  have  a  letter  for  you  there. 
It  is  still  an  hour  before — before  the  dark." 

Very  quietly  she  consented.  Again  they  walked 
together.  This  time  he  led  the  way.  A  stranger 
would  have  thought  them  lovers.  No  words  were 
spoken  by  them  on  the  ascent.  It  was  only  when  they 
got  to  the  gray  rock  in  the  birches  of  the  summit. 
The  blue  sky  to  the  west  was  wider  now,  and  it  was 
getting  colder.  Austin  sank  in  the  ferns  and  began 
to  dig  in  the  rock  with  his  fingers.  The  woman 
looked  on,  wondering.  At  last  his  hands  exposed  a 
crevice,  and  reaching  his  arm  far  down,  he  drew  out 
a  yellowed  envelope.  "  It  is  a  letter,"  he  said.  "  It 
has  been  there  three  years.  I  never  thought  that  I 
should  give  it  to  you.  But  you  will  read  it,  dear, 
now  that  I  am  going  away."  She  took  it  from  his 
hand,  reading  her  own  name  on  the  earth-stained 
paper.  "  Only  when  I  am  gone.  You  need  not  fear 

516 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

to.  You  know,  we  shall  never  speak  like  this  again. 
We  shall  never  see  each  other  again." 

He  was  following  her  way,  now.  And  first  now, 
her  heart  was  near  to  sinking.  She  held  her  face 
quite  still.  And  he  looked  at  her ;  he  looked  at  her 
slender  figure,  at  the  white  hands,  the  contour  of  her 
face,  her  lips,  her  eyes,  where  in  the  shadow  they 
made  a  dimness. 

"  We  may  not  meet  again."  Then  he  added 
quickly,  "  But  I  am  very  happy,  dear  Miss  Ravenel, 
very  happy — if  you  will  keep  the  letter."  Some  time 
he  sat  there,  she  still  standing,  but  they  said  nothing 
more — and  then  she  turned  to  go. 

Coming  down,  it  was  the  time  for  tea.  Pinckney 
asked  for  his  horse.  He  looked  a  moment  at  the 
"  Ossian,"  still  lying  on  her  lounge.  Without  sur 
prise,  he  read  from  the  fly  leaf.  "  My  father's  hand 
writing — I  have  got  one  in  hers.  Miss  Ravenel,  they 
must  have  parted  as  we  have  done " 

The  word  touched  the  breeding  of  his  hostess. 
"  You  cannot  ride  on  to-night — it  is  growing  so 
cold.  I  am  sure  Ravenel  should  offer  Mr  Pinckney 
one  night's  shelter " 

Austin  Pinckney  smiled  sadly.  "  You  know  the 
night  and  the  cold  don't  matter — and  what  would  be 

said- ' 

517 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  girl  drew  herself  up.  "  We  Ravenels  do  not 
usually  remember  what  is  said.  And  Miss  Aylwin  is 
with  me " 

Austin  only  shook  his  head.  "  Good  night,  dear 
— it  is  not  very  cold."  For  the  first  time  his  hand 
touched  hers  that  day.  "  My  horse,  Jackson !  " 
Then,  as  he  turned  back,  something  in  her  face  sent 
a  shudder  to  his  heart.  "  Forgive  me,  oh,  forgive 
me.  Miss  Ravenel,  I  am  so  happy,  only  that  it  has 
been  spoken — 

So  he  rode  off  in  the  twilight  toward  the  pale  azure 
rim  that  opened  coldly  to  the  northward.  It  was 
true;  that  night,  he  was  very  happy  that  he  had 
spoken.  And  he  rode  very  many  miles.  Poor  horse! 
When  she  was  sure  that  the  door  was  closed,.  Miss 
Ravenel  returned  to  the  sofa  she  had  left  three  hours 
before.  The  book  lay  open  there,  beneath  the  high 
mahogany  arm.  She  buried  her  face  in  its  open  page, 
and  her  bright  hair  streamed  downward 


518 


BOOK    FOUR 

"In  la  sua  voluntade  e  nostra  pace." 

— Paradiso. 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


LVI 


SOME  days  after  the  events  narrated  in  the  last 
chapter,  Mamie  Rastacq  was  sitting  in  the 
shadiest  end  of  the  majestic  Rhinefell  terrace,  call 
ing  up  the  past.  To  tell  over  one's  vanished  yester 
days  is  never  so  serene  an  occupation  as  to  tell  one's 
beads ;  and  sadly,  on  poor  Mamie's  string,  she  found 
few  gems.  And  they,  alas !  had  passed  unnoticed  at 
the  time ;  the  bulk,  she  found,  had  been  but  shining 
glass.  How  they  had  deceived  her,  though!  Did 
they  deceive  all  women?  They  had,  certainly,  that 
poor  woman  upstairs. 

It  is  well,  at  one's  worst,  to  think  of  others.  Mrs 
Rastacq,  of  late  years,  had  been  taught  to  see  this ; 
so  she  shook  her  thought  from  her  own  self  and  set 
it  to  think  of  Dorothy.  She  had  been  very  silent 
with  her,  uncommunicative,  but  Mamie  did  not  feel 
it  was  for  lack  of  mental  process  on  her  part. 

Mamie  had  seen  very  well  what  had  happened, 
and  Dorothy  doubtless  knew  it ;  and  Mamie  liked 
her,  at  all  events,  for  being  too  proud  to  try  to 
explain. 

And  while  Mrs  Rastacq  was  so  sitting,  the  Ma j  or 
joined  her.  For  Mamie  had  cast  about  for  a  guest, 
and  decided,  on  the  whole,  that  he  would  best  do. 
34  521 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  Major  had  not  been  at  Gansevoort  Manor,  and 
had  made  no  effort  to  discover  what  had  happened 
there.  He  had  contented  himself  with  explaining 
his  absence  from  the  house  party  on  the  ground  that 
Pete  was  an  unlicked  cub ;  adding,  only  for  Mamie's 
ear,  that  he  trusted  he  was  now  a  licked  one.  The 
addendum  had  suggested  to  Mamie  that  he  was  still 
not,  possibly,  too  uninformed  to  be  in  a  condition  to 
render  valuable  advice. 

But  to-day  old  Brandon  was  out  of  his  most  ex 
cellent  temper.  "  I  am  tired  of  it  all,"  he  said,  as 
he  threw  himself,  almost  brusquely,  into  a  chair 
beside  her. 

"  Tired  of  what  ?  "  said  Mamie  gently. 

"  Tired  of  the  set  you  live  in.  Tired  of  the 
Duvals,  Einsteins,  Marosinis,  Gonzagas — and  the 
Markoffs — and  your  Pizzis  and  your  Pazzis  and 
your  Puzzis — the  French  have  a  word  for  them — 
rastaquoueres — pardon  me,  I  didn't  mean  to  pun 
upon  your  name — 

"  My  name  was  Livingston,"  said  Mamie.  "  But 
what  are  the  rastaquoueres  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  people  who  live  in  Paris  and  are 
not  Frenchmen — the  people  who  thrive  and  fatten  on 
a  society  they  have  not  made — the  people  who  swarm 
in  sunny  France  like  the  locusts  and  would  run  away 
at  the  shadow  of  a  Prussian  helmet— the  people  who 

522 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

are  sunned  to  monsters  in  our  air  of  liberty  and  equal 
opportunity  and  have  no  patriotic  gratitude — the 
people  who  are  ignorant  of  the  truth  that  has  made 
us  free  and  neither  care  nor  understand —  Oh,  I  am 
not  narrow — they  are  not  all  Jews  and  dagoes — 
there  are  political  rastaquoueres  at  Washington, 
moneyed  ones  in  New  York,  and  some  of  the  worst 
of  them  are  Yankees  from  Ohio.  '  Toll,  toll,  iiber- 
all  toll —  I  feel  like  old  Sachs — only  not  so  good- 
natured — it  is  a  Rasta  world.  And  our  Eva  loves 
it." 

"  Speaking  of  Puzzis,"  said  Mamie,  "  she  wants 
to  go  abroad." 

"  And  the  best  thing  she  can  do.  And  speaking 
of  Hans  Sachs,  there -comes  your  Walther — hers,  I 
mean." 

"  What !  "  cried  Mamie,  starting  up.  "  He's  off 
duck  shooting." 

"  Perhaps  his  ducks  are  in  his  saddlebags.  But 
my  eyes,  thank  goodness,  are  still  good." 

The  carriage  road  took  a  wide  circle  around  the 
great  lawn  and  then  led  away  straight  opposite  the 
house  thus  made  visible,  as  in  a  French  park,  at  every 
rond-point ;  and  coming  along  it,  at  the  gallop,  was 
a  man  on  a  foam-flecked  horse.  It  was  certainly 
Pinckney,  for  he  saw  them,  and  took  off  his  hat,  then 
disappeared,  to  the  left,  as  the  circular  avenue 

523 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

plunged  into  the  forest.  The  Major,  who  had  stood 
up  and  waved  his  handkerchief,  sat  down  again. 

"  He  is  more  an  Arthur  than  a  Walther,"  said 
Mamie  pensively.  "  And  as  for  Eva — 

"  Well,  what  for  Eva?  "  snapped  the  Major  sav 
agely.  "  What  do  we  know  of  her  ?  What  did  he 
know  of  her?  He  didn't  write  any  prize  songs  after 
he  married  her." 

"  That  was  left  to  Beckmesser,"  smiled  Mamie. 

"  Oh,  the  ideal  woman  is  a  nuisance.  The  can 
onization  of  the  sex  by  the  nineteenth  century  is  as 
much  one  extreme  as  the  simple  view  of  the  mediaeval 
Christian — who  saw  in  her  only  the  surest  mode  of 
being  damned — was  the  other  extreme.  The  modern 
woman  can  no  longer  make  a  good  healthy  haus- 
frau — what  early  Christian  first  discovered  she  has 
a  soul?  Give  me  the  normal,  unmorbid  classic  view 
— before  St.  Paul  and  Augustine  elevated  her  to  any 
sinful  eminence." 

"  And  what  do  you  consider  the  classic  view  of 
her?" 

"  That  she  makes  a  charming  mistress,  but  a  bad 
divinity." 

"  Oh,  I  was  speaking  of  good  women,"  remon 
strated  Mamie. 

The  Major  looked  at  her  as  if  he  had  found  a 
new  note.  Then  he  burst  out  again.  "  Oh,  the  good 

524 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

woman.  Give  me  the  bad.  The  good  woman — who 
glorifies  the  earth  awhile  for  a  man,  then  breaks  his 
heart — such  a  one  is  like  the  beguiling  fairy  in  the 
old  knight's  tale — she  takes  and  leads  you  by  the 
hand  down  into  the  enchanted  valley  and  then,  when 
both  of  you  discover  where  you  are,  she  stabs  and 
leaves  you.  Good  women  may  do  more  harm  than 
bad." 

He  stopped,  for  Austin  Pinckney  strode  out 
of  the  main  door.  Booted  and  spurred,  he  had 
not  stopped  to  brush  the  dried  mud  of  yesterday 
from  his  gaiters.  To  the  Major  it  was  obvious 
that  he  had  ridden  hard.  "  Where  is  Dorothy  ?  " 
said  he. 

"  In  her  room,"  answered  Mamie,  grasping  his 
hand.  "  Shall  I  show  you  where  it  is?  " 

"  Please  tell  her  first  I  am  come,  if  you  will  be 
so  kind,  Mrs  Rastacq."  He  waited  until  she  had 
left  the  terrace;  then  turned  to  the  Major. 

"  I  thought  you  were  off  shooting,"  said  the 
Major  hastily. 

"  I  have  been  on  a  riding  trip,"  said  Pinckney, 
"  but  to-day  I  had  a  telegram  from  my  office.  Mrs 
Somers,  my  wife's  mother,  died  in  Paris  this  morn- 
ing." 

In  a  minute  Mamie  had  returned.  "  She  is  wait 
ing  for  you." 

525 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Mrs  Somers  has  just  died — in  Paris,"  said  the 
Major. 

"  Oh,"  cried  Mamie,  with  the  natural  cry  of  any 
woman ;  she  had  never  known  Mrs  Somers.  "  Do 
you  want  me  to  tell  her?  " 

"  I  think  I  had  better  tell  her  first,"  said  Austin. 
"  But  I  wish  you  would  come  with  me." 

The  Major  continued  to  sit  on  the  terrace. 
After  a  quarter  of  an  hour  had  gone  Mamie  re 
turned.  "  What  will  he  do  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  She  will  go  to  Paris.  He  will  not  go  with  her. 
She  leaves  by  to-morrow's  steamer.  He  is  going  to 
Lenox  to  the  baby.  She  has  her  maid,  who  has  been 
with  her  before.  After  all,  she  has  often  been  over 
without  him.  He  is  not  needed  there." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Brandon. 

Mamie  answered  subconsciously :  "  He  will  go 
wherever  he  is  needed." 

The  Major  looked  at  her,  but  said  nothing  more. 
After  a  while  Austin  and  Dorothy  came  down  to 
gether.  She  was  not  in  black,  but  she  made  no  com 
plaint  of  her  want  of  mourning,  as  she  might  once 
have  done.  She  did  not  seem  to  think  of  her  dress. 
The  Major  went  up  and  shook  her  hand;  then  Mamie 
put  her  arms  about  her  and  led  her  away. 


526 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


LVII 

FATHER  BASIL  CONYNGHAME,  of  the 
Brotherhood  of  the  Virgin,  that  night  knelt 
more  than  his  allotted  time  before  the  altar  that  was 
in  the  chapel  at  the  end  of  the  long  gallery.  The 
great  chapel  was  at  the  end  of  the  cloisters  below; 
this  little  oratory,  dedicated  to  the .  Child  Virgin, 
was  dressed  with  a  simple  altar,  a  hassock  or  two, 
and  plain  wooden  benches  for  those  who  were  too 
weak  to  kneel ;  it  was  used  only  by  the  invalids  from 
the  hospital  and,  at  night,  for  the  lonely  orisons  of 
those  of  the  brethren  who  felt  the  call  to  penitence 
or  prayer.  Now  Basil  Conynghame  had  knelt  there 
many  hours  and  searched  his  soul. 

Not  in  vain,  it  appeared ;  for  when,  at  last,  he 
rose  (it  was  nearing  the  hour  of  prime  and  the 
breath  of  a  dawn  of  June  was  in  the  garden)  his  eye 
was  bright  and  clear  and  his  face  (though  always, 
with  its  high  cheek  bones  and  aquiline  nose,  the  face 
of  an  enthusiast)  serene.  To  one  of  those  who 
quailed — or  melted — before  his  burning  eyes,  in  his 
ministrations  of  the  working  day,  it  would  have 
seemed  a  still  newer  revelation,  so  pale  and  strong 
was  it,  so  pure,  so  radiant — "  calm  with  having 
looked  upon  the  front  of  God."  As  that  of  the 

527 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Florentine  when  Lethe's  shriving  stream  was  past 
and  before  the  rebirth  in  Eunoe  brought  eternal  re 
membrance  and  its  deathless  joy.  Like  one  whose 
soul  Lethe  put  to  sleep  before  the  message  of  the 
Magdalen — for  "  first  was  Mary  Magdalene  to  see 
the  risen  Lord  " ;  the  woman  that  had  been  lost  first 
found  the  hope  of  heaven. 

All  that  night  he  lay  in  prayer.  One  would  not 
say,  he  wrestled  with  the  Lord,  that  is  the  prayer  of 
the  pre-Christian,  Jew,  or  Puritan.  The  Christian, 
most  of  all  the  later  Catholic,  learns  first  the  lesson 
that  His  will  is  peace.  Long  since,  years  since,  he 
had  dedicated,  not  his  walks  and  ways  alone,  but  his 
soul  and  self  to  God ;  his  mind  and  heart  to  service 
of  his  fellow-men.  There  was  naught  now  remaining 
of  the  self  that  had  been  Basil  Conynghame. 

So  Conynghame  had  not  been  praying  for  him 
self,  unless  to  avert  a  sorrow  that  he  would  share 
with  all  his  world  be  deemed  a  selfish  prayer.  And 
now  he  bathed,  and  walked  in  the  garden,  as  he 
planned  his  work  for  that  day.  After  all,  he  could 
go  on  alone  now;  the  summer's  tasks  were  easy  and 
the  winter's  work  well  done.  He  listened  joyously 
to  the  singing  of  the  birds  and  buried  his  gaunt  face 
in  a  great  new  rose.  For  Conynghame  was  no 
ascetic,  except  as  his  nature  quailed  at  grosser  pleas 
ures,  nor  indeed  a  Roman  Catholic,  though  many 

528 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

an  honest  clergyman  thought  their  "  Brotherhood  " 
as  bad.  He  called  himself  a  priest,  and  had  taken 
the  vows  of  poverty  and  celibacy ;  he  was  a  Catholic, 
but  not  a  Roman  Catholic ;  their  very  name  be 
tokened  not  Mariolatry,  but  tenderness  for  her  that 
had  been  the  mother  of  God.  But  he  had  been  pray 
ing  for  a  woman  now. 

She  had  given  that  year  of  her  life  to  stony 
ways ;  she  had  trod  by  his  side  in  their  humble  path ; 
and  now,  in  his  deep  vision,  he  had  bade  her  go.  No 
one  is  too  high  for  humble  service ;  but  one  star  dif- 
fereth  from  another  in  glory.  There  are  many  man 
sions  ;  and  some  can  best  serve  in  the  wider  world. 
There  were  other  ministering  angels  whose  hearts 
were  as  kind  as  Mary  Ravenel's,  other  nurses  for 
the  sick  with  hands  as  gentle ;  no  one  who  had  such 
vision  of  the  perils  of  the  time,  the  aims  or  lack  of 
aims  of  women,  the  needs  of  men.  He  had  chosen  for 
his  own  the  meaner  streets  of  his  native  Baltimore ;  a 
larger  world,  the  whole  Republic  that  they  both 
loved,  had  need  of  ladies  such  as  (he  had  found) 
was  this  his  favorite  cousin's  child.  For  Conyng- 
hame,  like  many  of  us,  believed  that  commercialism 
had  done  its  worst,  and  that  we  Americans  are  now 
at  last  once  more  upon  the  plane  of  an  ideal,  a  high 
resolve,  again  to  lift  our  country  to  the  level  of 
its  mission  on  the  earth. 

35  529 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Then,  too,  there  was  her  health — her  bodily 
health — the  first  duty  to  the  Creator,  even  of  an 
angel,  is  to  live  the  life  on  earth.  The  mediaeval 
poet  never  brought  his  angel  nearer  to  this  world 
than  the  garden  of  Paradise:  the  profounder  mod 
ern  mind  had  placed  her  still  on  earth.  So  Conyng- 
hame  had  urged  her,  when  her  strength,  that  spring, 
the  year  after  her  grandmother  died,  showed  signs 
of  failing,  to  leave  the  close  city  for  a  while  and 
travel  with  some  friends  abroad.  She  had  had  no 
garden  to  walk  in,  as  had  he — Raven-el  was  gone  and 
she  had  no  place  now,  in  New  York. 

He  had  given  her,  that  day,  when  she  left,  a 
handful  of  the  sweet  Southern  jasmine;  and  now  he 
plucked  a  blossom  or  two  that  still  remained  in  the 
garden,  as  its  fragrance  reminded  him  of  her.  He 
did  not  wholly  understand.  To  such  as  Basil 
Conynghame  it  was  no  mystery  that  any  woman 
should  choose  the  single  life — it  was  his  creed  to  hold 
that  such  might  be  the  higher  service — yet,  some 
how,  it  was  a  puzzle  to  him  that  this  one  had — per 
haps  it  is  a  corollary  of  the  doctrine  of  an  unmar 
ried  priesthood  that  a  woman's  highest  service  is 
rendered  with  and  through  her  husband.  But  in  his 
secret  soul  Basil  believed  that  no  priest  could  really 
see  the  highest  truth,  minister  so  deeply  to  the 
human  heart,  as  he  whose  soul  had  soared  beyond 

530 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

the  bonds  of  sex.  He  would  have  denied  it — humbly 
denied  it  to  any  holding  a  different  faith — but  it 
may  be  thought  the  prejudice  was  there.  His  friend 
Austin  Pinckney  knew  far  more  of  the  world,  was  a 
wider  man,  a  far  more  potent  instrument  for  the 
world's  good,  even  a  wiser  man,  than  he — but  the 
priest  could  not  but  feel  that  there  were  some 
things  the  lawyer  could  not  judge  so  well.  Yet  how 
Pinckney  himself  had  grown  from  that  brave  young 
boy  he  had  married !  He  had  seen  clearly  enough, 
as  he  had  thought,  into  the  white  page  of  his  youth ; 
it  was  a  white  page,  he  was  sure ;  but  it  was  blank. 
Now  something  in  the  man,  not  in  his  mind,  that  was 
clear  enough,  but  in  the  man — baffled  him.  True, 
he  had  heard,  in  the  remote  way  that  priests  may 
hear  such  rumors,  that  his  marriage  had  not  been 
"  happy."  To  such  a  view  as  Conynghame's,  the 
very  phrase  was  unintelligible.  It  was  no  ques 
tion  of  happiness.  Any  marriage,  every  marriage, 
should  be  a  sacrament — or  it  should  not  be.  It 
was  the  very  forgetfulness  of  this,  thought  Conyng- 
hame,  that  made  the  shame  of  the  modern  secular 
law. 

For  a  moment  his  mind  had  wandered ;  then  it 
reverted  to  his  cousin.  True,  he  had  once  spoken 
of  her  to  Pinckney ;  his  friend  had  simply  answered 
that  he  knew  her.  "  She  is  the  noblest  woman  I  have 

531 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ever  known,"  he  had  urged;  but  Austin  made  no 
response.  Conynghame  supposed  that  he  had  been 
bred  a  Romanist ;  his  wife,  he  fancied,  was  of  no  re 
ligion.  But  Austin's  mother  had  been  a  Boston  Uni 
tarian  ;  his  father  was  consul  to  a  Lutheran  court. 

Conynghame  thought  of  his  work  for  the  day: 
his  work  for  many  days  to  come.  Consumption,  the 
chief  scourge  of  their  poor,  was  less  dangerous  in 
the  summer;  the  people  could  be  given  sunlight, 
could  be  got  away ;  but  there  were  the  children's  ail 
ments,  most  terrible  in  a  Southern  city,  and  the  sor 
rows,  profounder  almost  than  any  human  sorrow, 
that  come  with  the  dying  of  a  little  child,  and,  more 
than  always,  the  desolate  homes  of  erring  men. 
How  marvelous  after  all  the  love  of  women !  Of  the 
thousand  homes  that  Basil  visited  there  were  not 
ten  whose  misery  was  not  caused  by  sins  of  men. 
And  the  women's  truth — it  was  the  "  upper  "  class 
where  women  took  these  things  lightly — that  was 
why  women  like  his  cousin  were  more  needed  there. 
Well,  he  had  promised  to  write  to  her  about  the  poor 
people  she  had  left.  She  was  not  coming  back,  to 
labor  in  his  vineyard ;  but  she  had  not  lost  her  care 
for  the  souls  that  dwelt  there.  Hers  was  no  per 
functory  service ;  it  was  the  very  wealth  of  her  heart 
that  had  enabled  her  to  scatter  largess  of  its  love 
among  them.  His  mind  ran  not  with  the  Major's. 

532 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

The  Rev.  Basil  Conynghame  gathered  his  long 
frame  together.  It  was  time  to  be  up  and  doing. 
The  day  promised  to  be  hot.  Even  as  he  did  so, 
he  heard  the  tinkle  of  the  garden  bell,  and  strange ! 
it  was  his  friend  Austin  stood  before  him.  He  was 
passing  through  Baltimore,  he  said,  on  his  way  to 
Washington — the  thought  had  occurred  to  him  to 
get  off  there  for  breakfast.  He  was  not  needed  in 
the  Supreme  Court  until  two  o'clock — how  was 
Conynghame?  He  wanted  a  walk  in  his  garden — 
how  lovely  those  jasmines  were. 

They  walked  and  conversed  desultorily.  Pinck- 
ney  did  not  seem  to  have  much  to  say,  but  Conyng 
hame  knew  nothing  of  politics  and  ascribed  his  ab 
straction  to  this.  The  priest  was  aware,  at  least, 
that  his  friend  just  then  was  fighting  with  beasts 
at  Ephesus.  "  How  is  Haviland's  campaign  getting 
on  ?  "  he  did  ask.  But  Pinckney  only  answered  that 
it  was  hardly  a  campaign  yet,  merely  a  question  of 
the  people's  wresting  the  nomination  from  the  New 
York  machine.  He  lingered  on,  though,  and  Con 
ynghame  felt  that  it  was  time  for  his  work  to  be 
beginning.  Intentionally  he  led  their  steps  toward 
the  gate  again. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  your  cousin,  Miss 
Ravenel,  this  winter?  I  heard  she  had  been  ill." 

"  She  has  not  been  ill — only  a  little  overworked. 
533 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Yesterday  she  went  abroad,  for  a  good  long  rest,  I 
hope." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Austin.  "  Is  she  to  be 
gone  long?  " 

There  was  nothing  unusual  in  his  voice,  but  the 
man  of  the  world  suddenly  became  as  a  little  child 
to  this  priest  of  souls.  After  a  quick  glance,  which 
Austin  did  not  meet,  he  answered : 

"  A  year — I  hope,  perhaps  more.  She  is  not 
strong." 

"  I  am  very  glad  that  she  will  have  the  rest  she 
needs.  You  know  my  opinion  of  her." 

"  She  is  much  interested  in  Mr  Haviland's  cam 
paign."  Now  Conynghame  forbore  to  look  at  the 
other. 

"  Tell  her,  if  you  write,  that  it  is  promising  well. 
Now  I  must  go  for  my  train.  And  I  suppose  you 
have  your  work  to  do." 

"  We  all  have  our  work  to  do." 

They  made  a  round  of  the  garden  once  more 
and  neither  spoke.  Then  Conynghame: 

"  How  is  your  wife,  and  the  boy?  " 

"  The  boy  is  fine,"  laughed  Austin.  "  My  wife 
is  well,  too.  She  is  in  Paris  with  her  sister.  Little 
Austin  is  with  me — or  rather,  with  his  aunt,  at 
Lenox." 

Austin  felt  curiously  conscious  that  this  man — 
534 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

this  priest — was  meditating  what  he  should  say. 
But  some  minutes  more  went  by.  Then  they  came 
once  more  to  the  gate.  Then  suddenly  he  felt  the 
burning  eyes  blaze  through  the  curtain  of  his  own. 
And  it  was  the  priest  that  spoke.  But  he  spoke 
very  gently,  and  he  laid  his  emaciated  hand  lightly 
on  Austin's  as  he  did  so : 

"  Remember,  my  dear  friend — for  Mr  Haviland, 
for  you,  for  all  of  us — shall  I  seem  presumptuous 
if  I  say  it  to  one  who  is  far  abler  than  I — to  one, 
a  Catholic,  perhaps,  who  well  may  have  his  own 
priest — remember  my  years  may  help  me  to  see,  at 
fifty,  better  than  one  who  is  in  the  heat  of  conflict, 
yet  in  the  middle  years — if  I  say  to  you  that  this 
world  is  a  world  not  of  fulfillment,  but  of  prepara 
tion?  " 

Conynghame  saw  the  younger  man  start;  for 
Mary  Ravenel  had  said  it  to  him  last.  He  looked 
away.  So  Basil  added :  "  It  matters  not  whether 
Haviland  gets  his  election ;  the  thing  is  to  prepare 
the  people  and  in  so  doing  to  prepare  himself." 

But  Austin  did  not  take  Basil  Conynghame's 
remark  for  Haviland. 

So  he  left  him,  with  his  thought ;  and  the  priest 
walked  there  alone  with  his.  By  his  own  love,  he 
had  seen. 


535 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 


LVIII 

A  WESTERN  man  comes  to  New  York  for  the 
first  time  with  a  certain  sense  of  defiance. 
He  would  indignantly  deny  that  the  great  city 
imposes  on  his  imagination — and  he  affects,  perhaps 
in  the  year  1896  with  belief,  to  condemn  its  works 
and  despise  its  ways — yet  the  defiant  note  remains. 
In  that  sense  the  Mississippi  River  still  divides 
America — a  boundary  more  significant  than  it  had 
in  all  the  centuries  it  flowed  between  France  and 
England  and  so  on  into  Spain.  "  New  York  is 
not  American,"  they  say  in  the  country  that  a  cen 
tury  ago  was  France.  And  periodically  they  revolt 
at  the  tribute  that  they  pay  to  it. 

Yet  in  the  height  of  such  an  outbreak  Armitage, 
of  Arizona,  sought  that  city.  Three  years,  off  and 
on,  he  had  been  at  Washington,  seeking  only  to 
get  permission  to  work  a  public  benefit,  and  he  had 
hardly  been  put  off  with  fair  words.  Bills  to  award 
pensions — land  grants — private  privileges — passed 
by  his  little  vehicle  as  if  their  wheels  were  greased. 
Bills  to  take  lands  from  the  public — to  lease  lands 
from  the  Indians — to  brevet  monopoly — all  were 
taken  in  turn ;  only  the  bills  to  protect  the  public 
— bills  for  pure  food,  fair  dealings,  equal  rates — 

536 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

slept  with  his  own  in  the  Senate  committee  room. 
He  wanted  only  to  make  land,  not  to  take  it — to 
make  fields  of  waving  grain  where  not  one  blade 
grew  before — but  his  river  was  officially  navigable 
and  he  needed  the  Senate's  kind  permission.  Yet 
he  never  lost  heart,  or,  what  is  more,  his  temper, 
until  one  day  when  he  discovered  that  the  very  Sen 
ator  of  a  neighboring  State  who  introduced  his  bill 
was  secretly  opposing  it.  And  as  he  was  patiently 
waiting  his  turn,  in  his  committee  room,  he  listened 
to  an  argument  (it  was  for  the  inviolability  of  these 
very  Indian  lands)  made  by  Mr  Austin  Pinckney,  of 
New  York.  And  Armitage  noticed  that  the  chair 
man  of  the  committee,  a  Senator  from  Kansas,  whose 
custom  was  to  remove  his  boots  and  go  to  sleep  in 
his  blue  woolen  socks  on  his  plush  sofa  during  many 
of  his  hearings,  sat  up  all  through  Pinckney's  dis 
course.  Diffidently,  after  it  was  over,  he  then  rein- 
troduced  himself;  it  was  six  years  since  they  had 
met ;  but  the  reminder  was  unnecessary,  for  Pinck 
ney  had  greeted  his  friend  with  outstretched  hands. 
Then  he  had  told  him  of  his  troubles ;  and  Pinck 
ney  bade  him  come  to  New  York.  "  You  should 
have  gone  there  first,"  said  he. 

But  to  Armitage,  who  found  getting  his  charter 
so  difficult,  the  raising  of  the  money  when  the  law  was 
passed  had  appeared  a  simple  matter.  And  so  Pinck- 

537 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ney,  that  year,  went  back  without  him.  It  was  only 
when  Congress  again  adjourned  without  action  that 
he  bethought  him  of  the  lawyer's  advice.  And  with 
drawing  his  dead  bill  from  its  pigeonhole,  he  packed 
it  up  with  his  plans  and  surveys.  All  his  fortune 
was  there — in  land.  Even  then,  he  had  not  been  able 
to  buy  up  all  the  lands  over  which  his  acequlas  might 
flow.  But  he  was  willing  enough  that  others  should 
profit  too — only  now  it  was  a  desert ;  not  even  useful 
as  a  cattle  range — the  very  Moquis  and  Apaches  ab 
horred  it — he  was  the  first  white  man  that  had  taken 
an  interest  in  it  since  the  courtly  Coronado  marched 
through  it,  a  century  before  the  village  of  New  Am 
sterdam  was  born  or  thought  of. 

Armitage's  sense  of  dignity  as  a  Westerner 
prevented  his  going  to  any  but  the  very  best  hotel, 
though  he  had  very  little  ready  money  left  in  Wash 
ington  and  not  much  more  at  home.  He  wore  a  black 
coat  and  a  felt  hat — it  was  not  an  unfamiliar  wear 
in  Washington — and  went  downtown  by  the  Ele 
vated.  When  he  found  Pinckney's  offices  he  was 
amazed  at  their  magnitude — to  be  sure,  there  were 
several  partners,  but  the  rooms  through  which  he 
was  ushered  seemed  interminable.  There  were  dozens 
of  clerks,  a  library;  in  the  last  room  before  you 
reached  this  a  very  beautiful  girl  sat  alone,  and  but 
for  the  typewriting  machine  he  had  taken  her  for 

538 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

a  lady  client ;  he  removed  his  hat  instinctively.  "  Mr 
Pinckney?  " 

"  Mr  Pinckney  is  with  a — friend,"  she  said.  He 
noticed  that  she  used  this  word  with  a  touch  of 
amusement.  "  Have  you  an  appointment  ?  " 

"  I — I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  he.  "  I  come 
from  Arizona."  The  distance  of  the  journey,  or  the 
simplicity  of  the  excuse,  must  have  impressed  her; 
for  after  looking  him  full  in  the  face — she  has  such 
lovely  eyes,  thought  Armitage,  as  he  felt  himself 
redden — she  said  that  she  thought  Mr  Pinckney 
would  see  him. 

"  I  should  not  wish  to  disturb  him  now  if  he  is 
busy." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  think  he  is  very  busy,"  the  lady 
said,  this  time  distinctly  with  a  smile ;  and,  after 
knocking,  she  entered  the  next  room.  Left  alone, 
Armitage  noticed  a  very  handsome  bouquet  of  long- 
stemmed  roses  upon  her  desk.  So  it  was  New  York 
that  permitted  ladies  such  as  she  was  to  take  to  type 
writing  !  He  could  not  but  feel  she  would  have  done 
better  on  the  Western  prairies.  The  door  opened 
and  a  man  appeared,  of  a  different  type  from  any 
that  Armitage  had  seen  downtown :  healthy  and 
pleasant-faced,  but  awkward  and  with  a  stooping 
gait,  and  dressed  in  a  rough  homespun  with  a  wide 
straw  hat.  It  had  not  escaped  the  quick-witted 

539 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Westerner  that  most  of  the  men  on  Wall  Street  wore 
silk  hats  and  frock  coats,  nor  did  the  look  escape 
him  that  lingered  on  the  lady  typewriter's  face  as 
this  man  said,  "  Good  morning,  Miss  Aylwin"  and 
went  out.  Meantime  Pinckney  was  calling  to  him 
to  come  in. 

He  laid  his  plans  before  him,  and  the  latter  lis 
tened  attentively.  Once  or  twice  he  opened  his 
mouth  as  if  to  speak ;  then  he  seemed  to  decide  to 
remain  silent.  The  area  to  be  covered  had  increased 
somewhat  since  he  had  talked  with  him  six  years 
before  in  Arizona ;  now  Armitage  thought  he  should 
need  seven  millions  of  dollars.  But  Pinckney  only 
seemed  to  want  to  talk  about  free  silver.  Like  all 
his  part  of  the  country,  at  that  time,  Armitage  be 
lieved  that  a  moral  wrong  had  been  perpetrated — 
intentionally,  and  by  a  few  participants — whereby 
the  value  of  gold  had  been  artificially  enhanced. 
But  his  friend  seemed  to  view  the  unlimited  coinage 
of  silver  in  a  similar  unmoral  light.  Still,  he  took 
it  pleasantly  enough.  So  Armitage  said: 

"  I  told  you  six  years  ago  that  Wall  Street  was 
the  dealer,  and  every  twenty  years  or  so  you  call 
in  all  our  chips,  and  now  you  say  our  white  ones  are 
no  good !  And  you've  got  most  of  the  blue  ones  out 
of  the  game !  "  But  Pinckney  only  smiled  at  this. 
He  was  graver  than  Armitage  had  remembered  him 

540 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

and  seemed  much  older;  in  Arizona,  Armitage  had 
thought  himself  the  older  of  the  two.  But  he  had 
a  very  winning  smile,  and  Armitage,  merely  saying 
that  there  was  nothing  now  to  do  in  Washington, 
waited. 

"  It  is  only  that  I  don't  want  you  to  be  disap 
pointed — it  is  a  very  bad  year  to  get  money  in  New 
York." 

"  I  only  want  a  few  introductions,"  said  the 
Westerner  confidently. 

"  That,  of  course — I  can  take  you  now — the 
Miners'  Bank." 

"  I  don't  think  I'll  go  to-day,"  said  Armitage, 
glancing  at  his  hat.  "  I  suspect  I  am  a  little  wild 
and  woolly.  And  I  think,  on  the  whole,  you  had 
better  not  accompany  me.  It  will  be  less  embarrass 
ing  to  both  of  us.  A  list  of  names  is  all  I  require 
— of  banks  or  bankers  who  will  be  interested  in  my 
proposition."  Armitage  shared  the  usual  Western 
tendency  to  slip  into  Latin-English  the  moment  he 
was  the  least  bit  self-conscious ;  otherwise  his  diction 
was  as  good  as  his  manners  were  simple.  Austin  him 
self  saw  no  reason  for  the  change  of  apparel ;  the  very 
slouch  hat  and  black  broadcloth  suit  lent  a  reality 
to  the  irrigation  scheme;  however,  with  the  tact  of 
middle  life,  he  forbore  all  comment. 

"  Let  me  know  if  you  need  rny  help." 
541 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Oh,  I'll  round  them  up  alone,"  laughed  the 
other.  "  If  I  lasso  any,  you  can  come  in  for  the 
branding.  It  must  be  possible  to  throw  one  out  of 
such  a  herd  " — and  he  looked  over  the  long  list  that 
Austin  had  just  dashed  off  for  him.  "  I  hope  that 
Mrs  Pinckney  enjoys  good  health."  It  was  the  first 
shade  of  embarrassment  he  had  shown. 

"  She  is  very  well,  I  heard  only  to-day.  She  is 
in  the  south  of  France.  The  boy  is  with  me — that's 
the  last  picture  of  him." 

"  Good !  "  cried  Armitage.  "  Mr  Pinckney,  he 
looks  fine.  I  want  to  hear  of  him.  You  must  send 
him  to  the  ranch  and  let  me  make  a  cowboy  of  him. 
If  I  may  presume,  will  you  send  your  lady  my  re 
spectful  compliments  ?  " 

"  You  may  presume  anything,  old  fellow,  only 
don't  mister  me.  And  you  must  dine  with  me  to 
night." 

"  Only  on  one  condition — that  I'm  not  to  bother 
you  with  business.  I'm  not  going  to  beset  your  din 
ner  table !  I'll  let  you  know  when  it's  all  done." 

"  When  you've  rounded  'em  up,"  laughed  Aus 
tin.  And  he  thought  how  much  a  finer  instinct  of 
commercial  manners  the  stranger  had  than  many 
of  New  York's  successes ;  they  made  no  scruple  to 
discuss  business  affairs  at  feast  or  funeral.  When 
Armitage  had  left,  he  took  a  long  look  at  the  photo- 

542 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

graph  before  replacing  it  in  his  desk.  Then  he  took 
up  his  wife's  letter. 

"  /  feel  that  I  must  stay  with  Daisy  one  more 
summer,"  she  said.  "  Her  husband  is  quite  impossi 
ble,  and  I  fear  she  may  have  contracted  another 
attachment.  At  least,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it  on  the 
boy's  part.  He  is  a  silly  young  fellow,  just  out  of 
Harvard,  and  quite  ten  years  younger  than  Daisy 
is — but  I  really  am  afraid  it  may  ruin  his  career. 
Please  write  and  tell  me  what  I  ought  to  do — and 
thank  you.  so  much  for  letting  us  take  the  villa  at 
Cimiez  again."  Then,  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter 
were  the  words,  "  I  hope  you  are  coming  over  this 
summer."  For  one  reason  or  another,  Dorothy  had 
never  returned  to  New  York  since  her  mother's  death. 
Two  winters  had  been  passed  with  Austin's  German 
sisters. 

To  Kollner,  coming  back,  it  appeared  that  Mr 
Pinckney  was  in  a  brown  study.  Papers  were  on 
his  desk,  but  he  was  not  reading  anything.  Even 
his  eyes  seemed  fixed  on  a  point  of  space.  He  turned, 
and  tiptoed  out  very  gently  so  that  Austin  might 
not  hear  him. 

For  ten  days,  nothing  was  heard  of  the  business, 
though  Austin  saw  Armitage  frequently.  Then  (he 
had  dined  with  Austin,  in  perfect  cheerfulness,  the 
night  before)  he  strode  in  one  summer  morning,  wear- 

543 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing  the  old  slouch  hat.  "  Mr.  Pinckney,  when  I  talked 
about  the  money  power  out  on  the  range,  I  was  half 
jollying.  I  thought  the  boys  that  used  that  expres 
sion  were  the  ones  that  couldn't  walk  down  Broadway 
for  fear  of  the  high  buildings.  Well,  I'm  a  tender 
foot  on  Wall  Street,  but  it's  taken  me  only  ten  days 
to  find  it's  a  real  thing.  If  I  hadn't  worn  my  wool 
on  the  outside,  I'd  'a'  found  it  out  in  one.  And  now 
I've  struck  the  trail  for  Arizona — 

Austin  pushed  his  papers  back  with  a  laugh. 
"  What's  the  matter,  Dick?  " 

"  Look  here,  Pinckney,  do  you  know  Sherman  C. 
Pillsbury,  director  in  the  —  -  National  Bank?  " 

"  Of  course,"  smiled  the  other. 

"  Oh,  he  ain't  president — he's  just  a  plain  direc 
tor.  Then  S.  C.  Pillsbury,  trustee  of  the  Universal 
Life  Insurance  Company  ?  " 

Austin  nodded. 

"  Same  man.  And  Sherman  Carter  Pillsbury, 
vice-president  of  the  Cosmopolitan  Trust  Company? 
Same  man."  Armitage  went  on  hurriedly.  "  And 
J.  Watt  Wilcox,  office  on  Broadway,  banker,  presi 
dent?  Same  man.  And  James  G.  Duval,  president 
European  Trust  Company — no,  he's  only  on  the 
executive  committee?  Same  man — though.  And 
Jacob  Einstein,  Junior  (he's  about  eighty  though), 
on  the  executive  committee  of  the  Cosmic  Life? 

544 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Same  man.  They're  all  the  same  man.  They're  the 
Money  Power,  and  there  ain't  anybody  else  got  any 
money  in  New  York.  And  their  names  don't  show 
on  the  signboards.  We've  hardly  heard  of  them 
in  the  West.  They're  not  Vanderbilt  or  Astor  or 
J.  P.  Morgan,  but  I  tell  you  they've  got  a  lead-pipe 
cinch  on  the  industry  of  eighty  million  people. 
What's  more,  I  tell  you  they  ain't  four  men,  but  only 
one  of  them — the  others  is  just,  you  may  say,  vi 
sions —  When  I'd  seen  Pillsbury  I'd  seen  'em  all — 
and  it  would  have  been  just  the  same  if  I'd  seen 
Duval  or  Einstein.  They're  all  tied  up  in  their  own 
lariats  like  a  bunch  of  stampeded  cayuses — throw 
one  and  you  throw  'em  all — they  throw  you  and 
you're  down — and  out." 

"  Come,  come,"  laughed  Austin.  "  I  may  have 
written  names  in  one  connection " 

"  There  are  others  ?  " 

"  Well,  there's  the  Standard  Oil  crowd " 

Armitage  groaned. 

"  There  are  the  Jews " 

Armitage  groaned  again,  but  not  so  badly. 
"Am  I  not  right?" 

"  You  were  very  quick  in  finding  it  out." 

"  How  do  you  account  for  it?  " 

Austin  paused  a  moment ;  then  he  spoke  seri 
ously,  and  his  words  carried  conviction  to  the  hearer. 

545 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  Money  —  mobile  money  —  is  the  greatest  earthly 
power.  Our  very  nursery  tales  told  us  this:  of  the 
purse  of  Fortunatus ;  of  the  hoard  of  the  Nibelung, 
fashioned  to  a  Ring,  that  wields  the  Will  of  the 
world — yet  we  forget  it.  Now  there  is  but  one  way 
to  the  hoard — for  it  is  made  up  of  our  savings.  The 
work  of  the  hands — in  farms  or  factories  or  railways 
— has  no  harm  in  it.  It  is  money,  ready  money,  that 
is  the  power — and  the  danger.  And  what  do  we, 
the  American  people,  do  with  our  savings?  In  the 
old  days  a  farmer,  a  little  manufacturer,  a  shopman, 
when  he  saved,  could  'enlarge  his  business,  add  to 
his  mill —  In  these  days  of  trusts  there  are  no 
small  trades,  no  independent  factories — so  now  he 
saves.  And  eighty  million  people  put  their  savings 
into  savings  banks — there  they  do  little  harm,  for 
these  can  only  loan  on  mortgages — or  into  trust 
companies — they  are  more  dangerous — or  into  life 
insurance — and  that  is  the  most  dangerous  of  all. 
You  have  simply  struck  the  concentration  of  control 
of  quick  capital.  Eighty  million  people  have  handed 
over  the  dynamic  power  of  all  their  savings  to  a 
group  of  six  or  eight  men." 

"  One  man,"  persisted  Armitage.     "  I  have  met 
him." 

"  Oh,  no — you  only   met  Mime — now  let's  try 
Alberich!" 

546 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  And  yet  you  are  surprised  that  Americans 
hate  Wall  Street !  " 

"Are  you  not  here  wanting  eight  millions? 
Where  else  can  you  get  it?  Let  us  be  fair.  It  is 
this  very  saving,  this  concentration,  of  capital,  that 
enables  it  to  serve  the  myriad  American  enterprises 
— how  long  would  it  take  you  to  go  among  the  peo 
ple  who  have  deposited  this  money — the  business 
men  who  have  struggled,  good  years  and  bad,  to 
meet  their  life  insurance — and  get  the  loan  you 
need?  Then,  small  capital  is  cowardly;  it  takes  a 
mighty  hoard  to  brave  great  enterprises.  All 
America  has  been  built  up  in  this  way.  It  is  like 
the  great  storage  lake  that  holds  up  the  water  for 
your  own  river  valley." 

"  Sherman  C.  Pillsbury  holds  it  up  all  right. 
That  may  all  be,  but  I'd  like  more  hands  at  the 
sluices.  Where  may  this  Alberich  live?" 

Austin  laughed  and  gave  him  Haviland's  ad 
dress.  "  He  will  tell  you." 

"  You're  sure  his  real  name  ain't  S.  Carter  Pills- 
bury?" 

"  Now  will  you  vote  the  Democratic  ticket?" 
laughed  the  other. 

"  Or  J.  Watt  Wilcox?  "  muttered  Armitage  as 
he  closed  the  door. 

Austin  rang  his  bell.  "  Send  me  Miss  Aylwin," 
547 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

he  said  to  the  boy  who  entered.  He  meant  to  dic 
tate  a  line  to  John.  But  the  boy  returned  with  the 
message  that  she  was  out.  It  was  unusual  for  her 
to  be  out  in  the  morning  hours.  She  had  absolutely 
no  interests  outside  of  the  office. 

At  the  same  moment  Kollner  entered.  He  had 
been  in  and  out  of  the  office  for  weeks  or  more. 

"  It  ain't  no  use,  sir,"  said  he.  "  I  might  as 
well  go  home.  I  think  she  does  not  even  want  to 
see  me." 

And  then,  more  gently,  more  sympathetically 
than  he  had  needed  to  be  with  the  healthy  Armitage, 
Austin  sat  down  with  the  young  German  and  began 
to  talk  of  the  affairs  of  Laurel  Run. 


LIX 

JOHN  HAVILAND  was  sitting  in  the  firelit 
library,  Grace's  two  hands  in  his.  We  have 
not  seen  so  much  of  these  friends  as  we  could  have 
wished:  braw  deeds  mak'  ill  telling,  said  the  Scot; 
perhaps  they  counted  more  in  the  world  than  in  our 
story.  Moreover,  their  romance  was  over  and  has 
been  elsewhere  told.  John  had  bravely  won  her,  and 
her  whole  heart  was  his.  But  the  elect  of  earthly 
paradise  stay  not  within  its  gates — what  are  wings 

548 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

given  for  but  to  fly  afar?  aye,  and  even  to  the 
places  "  mute  of  light  "• — it  was  only  Dante's  dainty 
lady  would  not  trust  her  wings  beyond  the  stream 
of  Lethe.  Grace  knew  her  city's  world  better  than 
the  "  Man  in  the  street  " — better  than  most  minis 
ters — better  (for  she  saw  the  heart's  higher  secret) 
even  than  the  district  party  leader.  While  John 
was  mayor  it  was  she  who  would  tell  him  what  the 
city  needed.  And  now  that  the  wave  of  national 
prosperity  had  caused  the  machine  to  believe  they 
might  elect  an  easier  man,  it  was  she  that  bade  him 
stand  aside  in  patience.  Party  ideals,  even  national 
ideals,  were  fading  in  the  blaze  of  wealth ;  there  is  a 
time  to  serve,  a  time  to  stand  and  wait;  so  there 
was  a  fight  against  his  renomination,  but  this  dis 
turbed  her  not  at  all.  Daughter  of  the  grand  old 
Massachusetts  judge,  she  had  been  born  in  the 
ermine ;  but  it  is  the  rust  of  idleness,  not  the  stains 
of  conflict,  that  leave  the  lasting  spot.  Should  he 
withdraw?  Surely  not — the  people  might  be, mis 
led,  but  not  for  want  of  an  honest  leader.  And 
John,  who  loved  to  hear  the  voicing  of  his  own  reso 
lution  on  her  gentle  lips,  patted  the  hands,  still  so 
pretty,  that  lay  between  his  own.  "  And  what  have 
you  been  doing?  " 

Grace  said  she  had  a  pleasant  surprise  for  him. 
"  I  have  been   to  see  Mary  Raven  el — she  has  just 

549 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

got  home."  John  sprang  to  his  feet.  "  Now  don't 
go  around  there  directly — besides  you  don't  know 
where  she  is." 

"Where  is  she?"  laughed  John.  "She's  worth 
a  dozen  state  committees." 

"  She's  got  the  nicest  little  apartment  you  ever 
saw — around  on  Thirty-ninth  Street — and  it  was  all 
quite  ready  for  her.  The  steamer  only  got  in  this 
morning,  but  that  lovely  protegee  of  hers — Miss 
Aylwin — had  been  around  there  for  days,  fixing  it 
up.  Do  you  know,  she  even  had  flowers  there  from 
Laurel  Run." 

John  laughed.  He  guessed  that  he  knew  who 
sent  the  flowers. 

"  John,  will  Austin  be  nominated  for  Attorney 
General?" 

"  He  can  have  the  nomination  if  he  wants  it — 
the  Democrats  are  particularly  virtuous  just  now. 
But  why?" 

"  You  know,  dear,  I  think  he  ought  to  go  to 
Europe  for  a  whole  year?  Poor  Dorothy  will  not 
come  home  and  perhaps  she  ought  not  to.  Mary  had 
a  great  deal  to  say  about  that  sister  of  Dorothy's. 
It  seems  she  has  left  her  husband." 

John  grumbled  something  about  a  good  rid 
dance. 

"  But  that  foolish  Brevier  boy  is  still  with  her. 
550 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Miss  Brevier,  I  know,  is  heartbroken.  Yet  I  can  see, 
Mary  thinks  they  all  ought  to  come  home.  She 
despises  Paris  society  more  than  ever.  You  just 
ought  to  hear  her  wave  the  American  flag." 

"  If  the  American  flag  follows  Mary  Ravenel," 
laughed  John,  "  it  won't  matter  about  the  Constitu 
tion  !  Ravenels  have  led  it  before." 

Gracie  sighed.  "  I  am  afraid  we  need  more 
Ravenels." 

"  Why  won't  she  marry  ?  " 

Grace  shook  her  head.  "  Mamie  has  a  theory, 
but  she  won't  tell.  I  never  saw  anything  like  the 
sympathy  that  exists  between  those  two,  or  anything 
like  the  change  it  has  made  in  Mamie.  If  Mamie 
could  only  have  married  a  man  like  Austin  Pinck- 
ney." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  It  takes  sometimes 
the  worst  in  others  to  develop  the  best  in  us.  Tony 
Rastacq,  once  and  forever,  disillusionized  the  poor 
girl  of  Vanity  Fair.  If  I  were  a  woman,  I  should 
fall  in  love  with  Austin  Pinckney.  But  women  fol 
low  a  more  ungentle  spirit.  It  has  not  made  much 
difference  in  his  Dorothy." 

"  7  am  not  so  sure  of  that.  Mary  Ravenel  saw 
quite  a  little  of  her  in  Paris.  She  thinks  she  is  much 
changed." 

"  I  don't  for  one  moment  think  there  was  ever 
551 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

anything  really  bad  about  her.  But  she  was  worse 
than  wicked !  She  was  shallow,  she  had  no  soul." 

"  The  Greeks  made  the  butterfly  the  symbol  of 
immortality — 

"  Hush,"  said  John.  "  You  mustn't  say  such 
things  in  New  York  society !  That  erudition  is  pro 
vincial — it  savors  of  Berkshire,  Mass. !  How  is  the 
State  Commission?" 

"  John,  if  you  don't  run,  who'll  they  put  in?  " 

"  Whom,  whom.  Some  Orange  County  store 
keeper,  I  suppose — a  fellow  with  a  human  smell 
about  him — a  man  with  magnetism." 

"  I'm  not  a  schoolmarm.  If  they  do,  all  we've 
done  is  thrown  away.  You're  magnetic  enough  for 
a  governor " 

"  Well,  why  can't  you  get  New  York  City  to  take 
an  interest  ?  " 

"  They've  no  interest,  except  for  business. 
They're  wonderful  in  commercial  public  interest — 
anything  to  promote  the  port  of  New  York — but  as 
for  civic  interests  —  why,  Boston  has  twice  as 
much!" 

"  That's  because  they've  given  us  their  railways 
and  we  and  Washington  have  bottled  up  their  port. 
They've  leisure,  now,  for  charity  and  public  work — 
they've  got  no  other  business !  The  creditor  attitude 
destroys  initiative.  They  still  can  sit  and  cut  their 

552 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

coupons — but  our  tariff  will  end  by  making  Boston 
another  Halifax.  They  have  time  for  altruism,  but 
we  are  out  for  business.  New  York  was  always  the 
same.  It  slept  quietly  under  the  British  flag  from 
1776  to  1783 — it  was  the  only  town  in  the  colonies 
that  didn't  throw  the  British  out.  At  the  time 
of  the  Port  Bill,  a  New  York  committee  reported 
that  '  they  could  not  discover  the  wisdom  of  hazard 
ing  the  freedom  of  their  own  port  by  indulging  any 
romantic  sympathy  for  the  people  of  Boston.'  Look 
here !  " 

John  took  down  a  "  Life  of  John  Jay,"  from 
which  he  read:  "  '  An  injurious  influence  was  exerted 
on  the  manners  and  habits  of  society  in  New  York 
by  the  number  of  adventurers  whose  residence  was 
merely  temporary  and  who  resorted  thither  for  the 
purpose  of  accumulating  fortunes.'  That  is  1775. 
You  see,  it  was  always  so !  But  we  prosper,  all  the 
same." 

"  What  Major  Brandon  calls  the  Rastas  prosper 
— none  of  them  care  about  the  country.  Not  the 
Duvals  nor  the  Marosinis  nor  the  Delgados  nor  the 
Einsteins.  One  Jew,  Markoff,  is  liberal  with  his 
subscriptions.  The  New  Englanders  and  the  Pres 
byterians  are  the  only  ones  who  work.  The  Knick 
erbockers  are  too  lazy  for  public  life." 

"  They're  going  to  give  us  a  President,"  laughed 
36  553 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

John.     "  And   the  Jays  themselves — and  Jerome — 
and  the  Bayards  ?  " 

"  All  Huguenots.  Mary  herself  is  a  Huguenot. 
Austin,  too,  comes  from  South  Carolina.  Freddy 
Wiston  is  the  only  New  Yorker  I  can  count  on. 
Even  Mr  Gower  comes  from  Connecticut." 

Whereupon  John  kissed  her  for  a  bigoted  pro 
vincial 

There  came  a  ring  at  the  door  that  reverberated 
through  the  house ;  such  a  bell  as  was  full  of  presage 
— there  are  such  bells — others  are  as  the  tinkling  of 
cymbals.  Both  Grace  and  John  started  up.  They 
were  not  deceived — the  door  of  the  peaceful  library 
was  flung  open,  and  Mary  Ravenel,  not  waiting  for 
the  servant,  appeared. 

"Mr  Haviland?  I  am  so  glad — you  must  come 
at  once — I  have  got  a  carriage — a  terrible  thing 
has  happened — 

'.    Beautiful  she  stood  there,  with  a  face  of  snow. 
She  was  like  the  angel  Azrael. 


LX 

IT  was  on  this  day  that  Armitage  had  been  called 
back  by  Austin   to  New  York.      Conservatism 
had  long  since  triumphed,  and  capital  emerged  from 
its   holes.      His   money  had   been    raised.      For   the 

554 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

millions  advanced,  the  bankers  asked  to  have  an  equal 
amount  of  mortgage  bonds.  Besides  this  they  were 
to  be  given,  for  nothing,  half  the  capital  stock. 
Armitage  would  have  demurred  at  this,  but  that  the 
terms  demanded  were  no  longer  a  surprise  to  him. 
They  were  the  best  that  had  been  hinted  of,  the  year 
before;  and  even  then  they  had  not  been  willing  to 
advance  the  money.  Moreover,  he  saw  that  Pinckney 
had  something  more  to  say. 

"  You  will  say  these  terms  are  outrageous ;  that 
you  are  giving  half  your  property  for  the  privilege 
to  borrow  on  the  other  half.  But  what  is  that  half 
worth  without  the  irrigation?  These  are  the  usual 
terms  to  inventors.  Half  to  the  inventor,  half  to  the 
financier,  besides  the  actual  cash  outlay.  In  a  sense, 
you  have  invented  this  land.  The  value  of  the  in 
vention  remains  to  be  proved." 

"  I  have  given  twenty  years  of  my  life  to  this 
enterprise — what  have  they  done?  "  Armitage  spoke 
earnestly,  but  not  querulously. 

"  Well,  for  one  thing,  they  have  got  your  act 
of  Congress.  It  was  rushed  through  at  the  special 
session  called  last  month  to  pass  the  tariff  act.  You 
remember  there  was  a  few  days'  lull  when  the  Senate 
and  House  failed  to  agree?  Benton,  of  Missouri, 
started  to  agitate  his  anti-trust  act,  so  the  speaker 
let  your  bill  get  in  ahead." 

555 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"My  bill?" 

"  Certainly — here  it  is.  And  here's  your  charter 
and  your  list  of  directors." 

"  Sawtelle?  Why,  that's  the  very  Kansas  sena 
tor  that  opposed  it  behind  my  back — said  the  waters 
might  back  up  into  Kansas." 

"  Well,  he's  taken  quite  a  lot  of  stock,  I  hear. 
You  and  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that.  They  can 
sell  their  stock  to  whom  they  like.  And  I've  got  you 
a  good  man  for  treasurer — Frederick  Wiston.  He'll 
be  with  you  for  the  right  thing,  every  time.  So 
you'll  really  still  have  control  of  the  company.  Be 
sides,  you're  president.  And  both  Levison  Gower 
and  Haviland  are  on  your  board — it  was  he  got  the 
life-insurance  people  to  give  the  money  for  your 
bonds." 

"  Oh,  S.  Carter  Pillsbury  again,"  sighed  Armi- 
tage. 

"  Not  quite,"  laughed  Austin.  "  And  with  a  dif 
ference — you  and  Wiston  are  the  difference.  But 
Pillsbury  had  to  go  in." 

"  I  make  no  doubt  it  is  the  best  arrangement  pos 
sible." 

"  Not  quite.  For  I  insisted  on  one  thing  more — 
that  your  time  and  money  should  be  counted  as  well 
as  their  financial  influence.  And  your  five  millions 
of  land  are  to  be  taken  at  fifty  cents  the  acre — Span- 

556 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ish  title  proved.  That  will  give  you  two  million  and 
a  half  of  the  bonds — one-third  the  total  issue.  I 
am  sorry,  but  I  couldn't  get  them  to  count  your 
time!  They  said  you  must  take  stock  for  that— 
as  they  have  done.  You  know,  old  man,  a  minute 
at  Washington  may  be  as  a  thousand  years — in 
Arizona." 

Armitage  laughed,  this  time  unreservedly, 
"  Pinckney,  you  have  done  all  that  man  could  do — 
and  more  than  any  Westerner  could."  He  grasped 
his  hand.  Then,  as  he  stood  there,  he  dropped  it, 
without  a  word.  "  What  was  that?  "  cried  Austin. 

A  shot  had  rung  out  from  the  adjoining  room. 
Austin  flung  the  door  open  and  rushed  in.  The 
Westerner  waited  to  be  summoned ;  he  had  recog 
nized  the  gunshot,  even  to  the  bore  of  the  revolver. 
But  it  was  but  for  a  moment. 

"  Armitage !  " 

He  saw  upon  the  short  couch  at  one  end  of  the 
room  the  fainting  form  of  a  woman,  supported  in  the 
arms  of  the  young  German.  He  remembered  to  have 
seen  him  there  the  year  before.  With  a  glance  only 
for  the  revolver,  noting  how  it  lay  there  on  the  floor, 
he  was  at  Miss  Aylwin's  side.  Kollner,  speechless, 
still  held  her  in  his  arms,  but  her  head  had  fallen. 
Pinckney  rushed  out  to  the  telephone.  "  Lay  her 
down,"  Armitage  said.  "  Open  her  dress."  Then, 

557 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

as  the  German  seemed  not  to  understand,  he  shoved 
a  cushion  beneath  her  head  and  gently  laid  it  there ; 
disengaging  the  other's  arms  from  his  support,  he 
quickly  tore  the  collar  from  her  throat.  The  poor 
girl  gave  one  shuddering  sigh.  Kollner  grasped  his 
hand  to  prevent  him.  "  Man,  she  must  breathe !  " 
And  noting  that  the  bullet  had  gone  through  her 
dress,  he  tore  it  apart  with  his  two  hands.  There 
was  a  second  sigh  and  a  quiver  of  the  eyelids ;  and 
the  poor  heart  stilled. 

"  She  is  gone !  " 

Kollner  threw  himself  on  his  knees  again,  as  if 
to  stanch  the  wound ;  but  it  was  not  bleeding  exter 
nally.  Then  he  drew  her  dress  together  and  laid  his 
handkerchief  over  her  face.  He  stood  up  and 
looked  at  Armitage. 

"  She  iss  dead." 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

The  German  looked  a  minute  at  him  silently. 
Armitage  fancied  that  he  had  lost  his  wits.  Kollner 
bent  down  again,  over  the  body  of  the  woman  he  had 
loved  in  vain.  Then,  without  rising  from  his  knees, 
he  turned  his  eyes  again  to  Armitage.  The  West 
erner  met  their  gaze;  this  time  he  refrained  from 
asking  questions.  He  turned  away,  and  stooped  to 
pick  up  the  revolver. 

"  Leave  it  alone !  " 

558 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

It  was  Pinckney,  returned.  With  him  were  the 
people  from  the  other  offices  and  a  man  whom 
Armitage  saw  to  be  a  surgeon.  But  Austin  closed 
the  door  as  the  doctor  entered.  Armitage  caught 
one  glance  of  an  awe-struck  group,  the  messengers, 
the  clerks.  The  doctor  bent  but  a  minute  over  Miss 
Aylwin's  body ;  then  reverently  he  replaced  the 
handkerchief  Avhere  Kollner  had  disposed  it  and 
closed  her  gentle  eyes  upon  this  world. 


LXI 

IT  is  all  over.  Death  was  quite  instantaneous." 
It  was  the  doctor  who  spoke. 

Thank  God  for  that,  seemed  to  be  their  thought ; 
only  Fritz  Kollner  gave  a  sort  of  smothered  sob. 
The  surgeon  bent  himself  and  said  a  word  in  Aus 
tin's  ear.  "  No,"  Armitage  heard  him  say.  "  Please 
see  to  it  yourself.  But  then  you  must  come  back 
here " 

"Come  back?" 

"  Come  back  until  they  come."  The  surgeon 
left  the  three  men  sitting  there.  To  Austin  the 
hours  seemed  endless.  Already,  at  the  main  door,  he 
could  hear  the  insistent  buzz  of  reporters.  He  had 
telephoned  to  Mr  Gresham,  now  doubtless  at  his 

559 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

house;  the  old  gentleman  usually  left  the  office  after 
three.  And  he  had  caused  a  guarded  message  to  be 
sent  Miss  Ravenel. 

Kollner  still  seemed  like  one  dazed.  Armitage 
watched  him  curiously.  He  remembered  now  to  have 
seen  him  often  in  Miss  Aylwin's  office,  not  once  but 
many  times  before.  Perhaps  he  wondered  why  they 
were  waiting. 

Austin  was  called  a  moment  to  the  outer  office. 
As  he  went  out  Kollner  rose  and  walked  over  to  the 
couch  where  the  poor  woman's  body  was  lying. 
There,  he  sank  upon  his  knees. 

Armitage  tiptoed  softly  back  into  the  library. 

When  he  returned,  it  was  because  of  a  loud 
knocking  at  the  outer  door.  Then  he  heard 
Pinckney's  voice  in  colloquy  with  several  men. 
In  a  minute  more  the  door  opened  and  the  police 
came  in. 

"  Everything  is  as  we  found  it,  captain."  As 
Pinckney  spoke,  the  German  stood  up.  The  police 
officer  but  glanced  at  him.  "  This  is  the  revolver." 
The  officer  took  a  ruler  from  the  desk  and,  taking 
up  the  revolver,  lay  the  ruler  on  the  floor  where  the 
revolver  had  been,  pointing  it  as  the  revolver  had 
pointed.  Armitage  witnessed  these  acts  with  evident 
disapproval. 

"  No  doubt,  sir,  no  doubt."  The  chief  of  police 
560 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

spoke  with  the  respect  he  owed  to  one  who  had  been 
his  district  attorney,  yet  with  the  air  of  one  whom 
the  powers  of  the  great  may  not  distract  from  his 
appointed  path.  "You  say  there  was  no  motive?  " 
He  spoke  in  English,  carelessly,  as  if  the  German 
could  not  understand ;  and  yet  he  looked  at  Koll- 
ner  rather  than  at  Austin's  reply. 

"  None  that  I  should  deem  sufficient.  The  last," 
said  Austin,  "  that  I  should  deem  sufficient.  She  died 
without  speaking." 

"  She  was  dead  when  I  came,"  said  the  surgeon, 
"  and  I  happened  to  be  close  by,  waiting  in  Mr  Rad 
nor's  office.  The  revolver  was  fired  close  to  her 
breast ;  the  dress  is  badly  burned ;  death  must  have 
been  practically  instantaneous." 

"How  many  shots  were  fired?"  The  officer 
asked  this  of  Kollner,  who  made  no  answer. 

"One  shot,"  said. Austin;  "we  heard  only  one 
shot.  And  it  was  very  loud.  We  should  have  heard 
any  other,  I  am  sure." 

"  But  one  shot  has  been  fired,"  said  the  officer, 
looking  at  the  revolver.  "  How  long  had  she  been 
here?" 

"  Since  the  morning,  they  tell  me  in  the  outer 
office.  She  had  complained  of  being  ill  and  had  not 
gone  out  to  lunch." 

The  officer  stepped  up  to  examine  the  body. 
37  561 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Kollner  made  a  step  forward ;  Armitage  laid  his 
hand  on  his  arm  gently.  Then  the  officer  turned  to 
Austin  and  beckoned  him  aside. 

"  How  long  had  he  been  here?  " 

"  They  tell  me  he  had  but  just  gone  in." 

"  Those  his  flowers  ?  "  He  had  seen  the  roses  on 
her  desk. 

"  She  had  a  bouquet  of  roses  every  day.  She 
always  had  them,  they  tell  me.  But  I  have  noticed 
it,  before  she  even  knew  young  Kollner." 

"  He  may  have  known  her  taste — you  say  he 
brought  none  with  him?  " 

"  Those  are  faded,"  said  Austin.  "  They  are 
yesterday's." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  Where  may  they  have 
come  from?  " 

"  He  lives — in  Maryland,  at  a  place  called  Laurel 
Run.  He  must  have  arrived  this  morning.  I  had 
not  seen  him  before.  He  has  long  been  a  client  of 
ours.  I  have  every  confidence  in  him."  But  as  Aus 
tin  spoke,  he  noted,  beneath  the  roses,  something 
the  officer  had  failed  to  see — it  was  a  little  bunch  of 
jasmine,  of  the  kind  that  grew  sheltered  in  the  Rave- 
nel  gardens.  All  this  time  Armitage  was  looking  on 
with  increasing  disapproval.  Kollner  did  not  seem 
to  hear. 

"  Now,  what  is  your  story,  my  man  ?  "  The  cap- 
562 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tain  of  police  suddenly  rounded  on  him.  But  Kb'll- 
ner  made  no  movement. 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?  " 

Pinckney  touched  the  officer's  elbow. 

"  Remember,  what  you  say  may  be  used  against 
you.  Now  then,  what  was  it?  " 

Kollner  looked  at  him  stolidly.  Then,  as  a  light 
seemed  to  break  on  him,  he  started ;  and,  after  a  mo 
ment,  compressed  his  lips  and  spoke.  "  I  haf  noth 
ing  to  say." 

"  Search  him — search  him  at  once,  before  he  has 
time  to  throw  anything  away."  Armitage  sprang 
up ;  the  officer  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  It  is  a  mere  formality,"  said  Pinckney.  Then 
he  whispered  to  Armitage,  "  They  will  not  find  any 
thing  upon  him." 

Armitage  stared  at  him.     "  You  think — 

"  They  cannot  search  his  heart." 

"  Well,  of  all  the  tenderfoot—  Armitage 
stopped;  his  eye,  for  a  moment,  had  caught  that  of 
Kollner. 

"  Was  there  any  money  in  that  desk?  "  the  head 
officer  asked,  coming  back  to  Pinckney. 

"  She  used,  I  believe,  to  keep  the  petty  cash  for 
the  office  in  there." 

They  opened  it ;  a  small  sum  was  found.  The 
drawers  were  filled  with  files  of  receipted  bills,  neatly 

563 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

docketed.  One  side  was  locked,  without  a  key. 
There  are  times — epochal  moments  of  life,  times  of 
love  and  death,  of  shame  or  tragedy — when  even  the 
socialist  must  admit  the  State's  interference  to  be 
horrible.  The  officer  turned  to  Miss  Aylwin's  body 
once  more.  "  She  must  have  had  the  key  with 
her " 

"  Stop  right  there,  Mr  Officer,"  cried  Armitage, 
while  Austin  also  laid  his  hand  upon  him,  saying 
quietly : 

"  It  is  not  necessary  now.  The  drawers  can  be 
sealed.  If  she  has  the  key  it  shall  be  saved  for  you. 
You  need  not  search." 

"  Well,  I  did  not  believe  the  motive  was  money," 
said  the  officer  meaningly.  Austin  made  no  reply. 
A  louder  murmur  was  heard  from  the  outer  office, 
and  in  a  moment  Radnor,  followed  by  Mr  Gresham, 
burst  into  the  room.  The  tears  were  streaming 
down  the  old  man's  cheeks ;  Armitage  and  Austin 
stood  up,  and  all,  even  to  the  officer,  left  the  room. 
They  heard  him  sob,  "  My  child !  My  poor  child !  " 

"  Any  relation  ?  "  asked  the  officer. 

"  None  that  I  know  of,"  said  Pinckney. 

"  None  whatever,"  reiterated  Radnor.  "  Don't 
you  think  you'd  better  take  him  away  ?  " 

The  captain  opened  the  enti'y  door  and  two  stal 
wart  policemen  trooped  in.  Kollner  seemed  to  start 

564 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

as  the  handcuffs  snapped  upon  his  wrists,  then  re 
signed  himself  again. 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  nothing  more —  It  was 
the  doctor  who  spoke.  He  was  anxious  to  get 
away. 

"  Nothing,  thank  you,"  said  Austin.  "  Captain, 
if  any  bail — 

"  Out  of  the  question,"  snapped  the  officer.  He 
picked  up  the  pistol.  "  And  I'll  keep  this — 

"  An'  you'd  better  get  him  away  before  my  old 
friend  sees  him."  It  was  Radnor  spoke.  Kollner 
went  off  without  a  look.  All  the  doors  opened ;  they 
heard,  from  the  outer  office,  the  talking  stilled;  a 
sudden  hush.  Then,  in  a  minute,  the  distant,  low, 
but  dreadful  roar  of  an  angry  crowd. 

"  It  is  the  people  in  the  street,"  whispered  Rad 
nor.  "  There's  a  thousand  of  them  already.  And 
there  ain't  an  office  boy  among  the  lot  but  would 
kill  him  but  for  the  police." 

"  Mr  Radnor,  Mr  Armitage."  The  Westerner 
looked  at  Austin's  senior  critically  as  the  three  sat 
down.  Then,  in  a  minute,  Mr  Gresham  appeared, 
wiping  his  eyes. 

"  How  long  has  this  been  going  on,  Mr  Pinck- 
ney?" 

"  You  mean  Kollner's  visits  ?     Five  years — eight 

years " 

565 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

i 

"  You  knew  of  this  —  infatuation  ?  "  Gresham 
spoke  calmly  enough. 

"  I  knew  he  wanted  to  marry  her.  I  knew — I 
guessed — he  had  asked  her  many  times." 

"  Poor  girl — and  this  is  the  end." 

"  Has  she  no  relations  ?  " 

"  She  has  an  old  father— no  one  in  New  York. 
She  has  supported  him  for  many  years.  But  he 
is  too  old  to  come — too  feeble.  He  ought  not 
even  to  be  told.  He  has  lost  his  memory.  For 
tunately,  she  has  always  kept  up  her  life  insur 
ance.  I  have  sent  for  Miss  Ravenel — she  was  her 
greatest  friend.  She  has  just  telephoned  that  she  is 
coming." 

"  Mr  Pinckney,  with  your  permission,  I  will 
leave  you  now."  It  was  Armitage  who  spoke.  "  Our 
affairs  can  wait.  And  I've  a  word  or  two  to  say  to 
that  sheriff  of  yours."  Radnor  also  rose  to  go. 
The  two  partners  were  left  alone. 

"  The  man  was  mad?  "  said  Mr  Gresham. 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  know  what  to  think," 
said  Austin.  Then  Armitage  returned.  His  open 
countenance  again  manifested  an  expression  that  was 
nearer  contempt  than  tolerance.  Then  Austin  heard 
Haviland's  voice  in  the  outer  office.  The  door  opened 
behind  him,  but  he  did  not  turn  his  head.  He  felt 
her  presence  in  the  room.  He  held  himself  as  in  a 

566 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

vise.     He  had  never  seen  her  since  that  day  of  storm 
at  Ravenel. 

"  Was  it  here?  "  asked  Mary. 

Austin  turned.  There  was  no  word  of  greeting, 
though  it  was  four  years  since  they  had  met. 

"  She  is  there."  Her  eyes  fell ;  but  Armitage, 
as  he  looked  on,  saw  Austin's  face.  He  went  away. 
But  this  was  all. 

Mary  went  in ;  Austin  followed  her  with  his  eyes ; 
then  closed  the  door. 

When,  in  a  few  minutes,  she  came  out,  she  was 
crying.  Austin  kept  silent,  with  clenched  palms. 
"  It  shall  be  from  my  home,"  she  said.  "  Mr  Havi- 
land " 

But  Haviland  had  gone  out.  Miss  Ravenel  went 
on,  to  Austin  alone:  "You  believe  he  did  it?" 

"  He  had  but  just  come.  They  tell  me,  he 
seemed  beside  himself  when  he  arrived.  He  had  not 
gone  in  a  moment  before  the  shot  rang  out.  He 
brought  those  flowers — 

"  And  she  took  them — and  put  them  in  her  glass 
of  water — and  then,  you  think,  he  shot  her?  " 

Austin  was  struck  to  silence.  What  the  police 
man  had  failed  to  see,  he  had  seen ;  but  what  the  two 
men  had  not  noted  stood  out  most  in  her  clear 
woman's  wit.  He,  too,  remembered  a  glass  of  water 
— it  once  had  saved  him. 

567 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  I  do  not  mean  the  roses,  they  were  hers,"  man 
like,  he  went  on  arguing.  "  But  the  jasmine — see?  " 
Gently  he  turned  the  great  roses  aside,  where  the 
dainty  yellow  bloom  was  hidden.  "  That  came  from 
Laurel  Run.  I  know  where  it  grows." 

"  I  gave  it  to  her  myself.  All  day  she  had  been 
busy  making  a  welcome  for  me !  And  I  did  not  even 
see  her.  I  sent  it  to  her  in  the  evening."  They 
stood  there,  face  to  face,  and  knowing  each  the 
other's  truth.  Death  so  makes  life  simple. 

Gresham  and  Haviland  came  back  and  talked 
with  Miss  Ravenel  in  a  low  tone.  Austin  walked  to 
the  window  and  looked  at  her  in  the  waning  light. 

Radnor  entered.  "  The  undertaker's  people  are 
there." 

"  Good-by,"  said  she  to  Austin.  She  went  up 
and  put  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-by !  "  said  he.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
looking  so  well."  And  that,  again,  was  all. 

Going  out  the  great  steps  into  Wall  Street, 
Haviland  and  Miss  Ravenel  found  themselves  be 
tween  a  line  of  policemen.  With  difficulty  they  kept 
the  people  back.  "  Extras  "  were  thrust  into  their 
hands ;  but  in  front,  before  the  very  newsboys,  was  a 
phalanx  of  reporters.  Mary  sprang  hastily  into 
their  carriage,  as  Haviland  pulled  down  the  cur- 

568 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

tains ;  but  even  as  he  did  so,  a  sheaf  of  black-lettered 
newspapers  was  thrust  in.  ':  Murder  in  the  Office 
of  a  Wall  Street  Law  Firm !  "  was  the  headline. 

"  You  must  come  to  our  house.  The  reporters 
would  give  you  no  peace  at  home.  They  will  find 
out  that  you  knew  Kollner."  Mary  looked  at  John. 

"  It  was  not  poor  Fritz  who  shot  Miss  Aylwin." 


LXII 

ALL  that  winter  Kollner  stayed  in  jail.  The 
newspapers — they  said,  the  people — of  New 
York  raged  for  his  execution.  Even  the  men  in  the 
street,  that  afternoon,  had  been  in  a  mood  to  lynch 
him.  Throughout  all,  Fritz  Kollner  said  no  word. 
He  persistently  refused  to  tell  the  police,  even  to 
tell  Mr  Gresham,  what  had  happened  in  those  fate 
ful  moments  after  he  had  entered  poor  Miss  Ayl- 
win's  room.  Then  another,  a  more  melodramatic 
murder,  came  along,  and  the  newspaper  public  might 
have  forgotten  all  about  poor  Fritz  but  that  the 
district  attorney's  office  still  postponed  his  trial. 
Then  the  "yellow"  journals  got  another  chance  to 
make  manifest  their  virtue,  and  the  district  attorney 
got  his  day  in  court.  It  was  pointed  out  that  over 
eight  hundred  homicides  had  been  committed  in 

569 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Greater  New  York  since  that  official  came  to  office. 
For  these  murders  there  had  been  but  two  hundred 
arrests,  twenty-seven  trials,  and  two  men  executed. 
Nor  did  the  Attorney  General's  office  escape  criti 
cism.  The  charge  of  supineness  gave  place  to  that 
of  corruption ;  it  was  openly  alleged  that  Pinck- 
ney's  influence  stood  in  the  way  of  justice. 

It  was  true  that  Austin  had  talked  much  and 
often  with  the  police  commissioner.  He  had  fol 
lowed  Armitage's  cue  and  asked  no  word  of  Kollner, 
but  he  had  imparted  his  convictions  to  the  head  of 
the  police.  Haviland,  too,  inspired  by  Mary  Rave- 
nel,  had  been  working  through  his  own  party  lead 
ers.  And  somehow  her  conviction  of  Kollner's  inno 
cence  through  but  the  one  word  spoken  on  that  day 
had  imparted  itself  to  Austin.  He  had  a  talk  him 
self  with  the  district  attorney. 

Then  it  was  that  that  official  showed  him  a  let 
ter.  It  was  a  letter  which  had  been  found  in  Koll 
ner's  pockets,  who  had  vainly  tried  to  throw  it  away. 
"  You  see,"  said  the  captain  of  police  who  had  made 
the  arrest,  "  the  evidence  of  motive  was  not  all  in 
side  him,  after  all."  The  letter  was  but  a  note, 
without  a  signature.  It  was  on  dainty  paper,  deli 
cately  sealed  in  gray  wax ;  it  ran : 

"  You  must  not  come  again  to  New  York.  Believe  me, 
it  is  quite  hopeless.  You  would  not  importune  me,  I  am 

570 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

sure.  I  am  sure  you  can  find  a  better  wife  in  the  valley. 
If  you  knew  all,  you  would  not  wish  to  marry  me.  /  am 
in  disgrace." 

There  was  neither  address  nor  signature. 

"  It  is  in  your  clerk's  hand,  I  think?  " 

It  certainly  was  in  Miss  Aylwin's  hand.  "  But 
what  does  she  mean  by  disgrace?  Her  character  was 
flawless — 

The  police  captain  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The 
commissioner  went  on :  "  Well,  with  anyone  else  we 
should  have  thought —  Now  don't  get  excited ; 
you're  as  bad  as  your  friend,  Mr  Armitage,  who 
wanted  to  throw  us  all  out  of  the  window !  No,  we 
don't  think  it's  that.  But  you  must  admit  that  the 
only  alternative  is  that  he  shot  her.  And  that  made 
your  cowboy  friend  almost  as  mad  as  the  other ! 

'  Any  d d  fool  that  ever  saw  a  gun  play  must 

know  that  Dutchman  never  owned  the  hand  that  fired 
that  gun.  He  couldn't  have  done  it ! '  But  when 
we  asked  him  why,  he  would  not  tell." 

"  I  think  he's  right." 

"  Well,  confidentially,  so  do  I."  The  police  cap 
tain  snorted.  "  And  that's  why  we've  held  up.  But 
how  to  prove  it?  You  see  he  won't  say  a  word.  And 
the  public  wants  his  neck." 

"  They'll  turn  around  and  send  him  flowers  when 
they  find  he's  guilty  all  right,"  said  the  captain. 

571 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Then  Austin  made  a  sign  to  the  district  attorney 
and  that  officer  was  dismissed. 

"  To  begin  with,  we  don't  know  it's  a  murder." 
But  the  commissioner  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  always  a  murder.  There's  a  hundred  jobs 
done  where  one  man  swings  for  it.  And  there's  a 
thousand  more  parties  die — husbands  poisoned, 
workingmen  sandbagged,  old  people  put  quietly 
away,  girls  got  rid  of — where  ten  of  those  are 
known  as  murders.  When  a  murder's  known  to  be  a 
murder,  it's  a  failure  as  a  murder."  But  Austin  was 
familiar  with  the  pessimistic  notions  of  the  police 
department  and  he  turned  again  to  his  successor. 
"  You  must  find  what  motive  she  had  to  kill  herself. 
Kollner  never  will  tell." 

"  You  know  the  department  has  money  to  spend 
in  detecting  crime.  But  there  isn't  any  fund  en 
dowed  to  save  obstinate  dunderheads  from  the  con 
sequences  of  not  opening  them." 

"  There  need  be  no  trouble  about  money.  Havi- 
land  and  I  will  see  to  that." 

"  Then  your  partners — Mr  Gresham  turns  to  ice 
when  we  ask  about  her  affairs — and  Dick  Radnor 
would  kick  us  down  the  elevator  if  we  proposed  to 
break  open  her  desk,  but  it's  got  to  come  to  that 
sooner  or  later." 

"  First  you  find  out  who  sent  her  those  roses 
572 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

every  day — to  my  knowledge  she's  had  them  for  ten 
years — 

"You  suspect ?" 

"  I  suspect  no  one,"  said  Austin  gravely.  "  I 
suspect  no  one  but  her  worst  enemy." 

The  district  attorney  looked  at  him.  "  Her  worst 
enemy  ?  Well,  we  are  not  quite  such  fools  as  we  look. 
So  do  we.  See  here ' 

It  was  a  bill,  for  more  than  a  hundred  dollars, 
for  "  roses  " — addressed  to  Miss  Kathryn  van  Kort- 
landt,  at  the  Hotel  Waldorf-Astoria. 

"  And  here." 

It  was  another  bill,  of  still  larger  amount,  for 
"  American  Beauties  "  delivered  to  Mrs  Auguste  Du- 
val,  at  the  Holland  House. 

"  And  here."  This  one,  from  another  florist, 
bore  the  name  of  Miss  Clare  Clinton,  the  Bre- 
voort. 

"  The  florist  tells  me  he  used  to  send  them  to  her 
ten  years  ago,  at  the  Ocean  House  in  Newport.  And 
she  had  hotel  bills  at  all  these  places,  but  they  are 
mostly  paid." 

"She?" 

"  It  is  the  same  person,  of  course,  always  Mag 
dalen  Aylwin.  She  led  two  lives — Miss  Aylwin  at 
your  office — Miss  Clinton,  Mrs  Duval,  Miss  Van 
Kortlandt,  in  uptown  hotels.  But  she  was  perfectly 

573 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

straight,  as  far  as  I  can  make  out.  No  one — still 
less  any  man — -would  ever  come  to  see  her.  She  only 
stayed  from  Saturday  to  Monday  and  was  supposed 
to  have  a  place  out  of  town.  Her  manners  were  dig 
nified  even  to  shyness.  Saturday  nights  she  often 
went  to  the  theatre — to  the  opera  if  there  was  one — 
but  she  never  bought  prominent  seats  and  always 
took  a  maid.  Several  of  the  maids  I  saw.  They  were 
very  fond  of  her,  and  cried  bitterly  when  I  told  them 
what  had  happened  to  her.  They  could  not  believe 
she  was  not  a  great  lady,  as  she  had  represented 
herself.  She  pretended  to  know  all  the  prominent 
women  in  the  boxes  and  would  point  them  out  to  the 
maid.  She  did  know  a  few — Mrs  Antoine  Rastacq, 
for  instance  —  but  always  seemed  to  avoid  them. 
The  maids  would  get  very  angry — every  one  of  them 
— when  my  detective  asked  if  there  was  no  gentleman 
in  the  case.  But  of  late  she  had  been  letting  her 
hotel  bills  get  behind.  Now  I  have  told  you  the 
facts,  how  do  you  account  for  it?  " 

"  It  seems  incredible,  but  it  is  simple  enough. 
She  came  to  New  York,  an  ambitious  country  girl, 
and  was  dazzled  by  it.  Five  days  in  the  week  she 
was  a  working-girl.  The  sixth  day  and  Sundays 
she  played  at  being  a  great  lady.  It  was  a  Winter's 
Tale.  And  she  sent  herself  the  roses." 

The  district  attorney  nodded.  Austin  felt  the 
574 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

good  fortune  that  this  official  was  a  gentleman. 
"  Her  salary  was  large?  " 

"  Ample.  But  she  sent  a  large  part  to  the  sup 
port  of  her  father  and  mother.  They  live  or  used  to 
live  in  Hadley,  Massachusetts." 

"  The  mother  died  last  summer.  The  father  has 
lost  his  memory — of  her,  of  everything.  We  have 
examined  all  that.  Her  life  insurance  will  be 
paid " 

"  If  Kollner  murdered  her,"  said  Austin. 
"  Could  he  have  known  ?  " 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "  His  motive  is  but 
dumb  devotion." 

"To  save  the  memory  of  the  suicide?" 

The  police  commissioner  evaded  the  question. 
"  Now  what  have  you  found?  " 

"  She  dismissed  all  her  Sunday-school  classes 
the  week  before.  She  would  give  no  reason — only 
cried  a  little  when  she  was  asked.  She  adjured  the 
older  girls  to  be  very  good,  and  told  them  to  marry 
soon  and  not  to  mind  if  the  man  was  not  a  gentle 
man  !  She  had  spent  the  day  before  getting  ready 
the  apartment  of  her  one  great  friend — Miss  Rave- 
nel— who  was  returning  from  abroad.  But  she  did 
not  wait  to  see  Miss  Ravenel — 

The  district  attorney  nodded.  "  I  know — in  her 
room — her  own  room,  I  mean ;  it  was  but  a  hall  bed- 

575 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

room  in  a  genteel  boarding  house  —  we  found  a 
trunkful  of  what  is  known  as  the  '  society  '  newspa 
pers.  In  a  locked  photograph  album  was  a  whole 
series  of  photographs  of  herself,  in  her  best  dresses, 
ball  gowns  even,  low-necked  opera  things,  dinner 
dresses — there  was  a  scrapbook  with  cuttings ;  one 
in  the  '  Town  Woman  '  referred  to  the  '  beautiful 
Miss  Aylwin  at  the  Ocean  House  ' — it  was  after  that 
she  used  to  change  her  name.  Then  there  were  even 
a  few  clippings  about  her  from  the  country  paper  at 
Hadley — all  respectful  enough  and  speaking  of  her 
as  if  she  were  a  personage  in  the  New  York  world. 
There  was  even  an  item  from  the  Times  about  a  house 
party  at  Ravenel." 

"  I  remember  it,"  said  Austin. 

"  I  can  only  wonder  that  she  did  not  burn  these. 
That  was  really  the  only  thing  that  made  me  hold  on 
to  Kollner.  The  impulse  must  have  been  a  sudden 
one.  When  is  it  the  custom  of  your  firm  to  make  up 
its  annual  accounts  ?  " 

Austin  started.  "  I  do  not  know,"  he  answered 
icily. 

"  Come,  come,  Pinckney — the  poor  girl  is  dead 
— and  you  and  I  want  to  save  an  innocent  man.  No 
jury  will  believe  these  fairy  tales  we  have  been  tell 


ing  !  " 


"  At    least    let    me    go    and    prepare    my    part- 
576 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ner — I  will  find  out.  You  can  come  in  half  an 
hour." 

Going  over,  Austin  found  Armitage  there  wait 
ing.  He  had  returned  from  the  West.  "  Dick,"  he 
said,  "  Kollner  is  innocent." 

Mr  Richard  Armitage  gave  an  explosive  sigh. 
"  I  knew  it  all  along." 

"  How  did  you  know?     Why  didn't  you  tell?  " 

"  I  saw  that  your  Dutch  friend  was  a  gentleman, 
and  making  some  play.  Being  a  gentleman,  I  natu 
rally  backed  that  play.  And  now  I  suppose  we  can 
go  and  set  the  poor  fellow  free?  " 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Austin.  "  We  must  go 
through  the  poor  girl's  accounts.  Her  private  desk 
is  locked.  The  district  attorney  won't  release  him 
without  a  confirmation  of  his  suspicions." 

"  The  desk  is  mine — I  will  not  have  it  opened," 
said  Mr  Gresham,  when  approached  upon  the  sub 
ject. 

LXIII 

THE  spring  of  1898  had  come,  and  Mary  Rave- 
nel  had  been  down  at  Laurel  Run.    During  the 
winter  she  had  gone  there  frequently ;  the  whole  man 
agement   of   the   watch    factory    had    fallen    to   her 
hands,  its  manager  in  jail;  besides  this  she  had  taken, 

577 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  addition  to  her  own  classes  in  New  York,  poor 
Magdalen  Aylwin's  Sunday  school.  At  Laurel  Run 
she  had  lived  in  the  house  of  one  of  the  older  work 
ing  girls,  and  devoted  much  of  her  time  to  the  heart 
ening  of  old  Mrs  Kollner.  Once  or  twice  she  had 
taken  the  poor  mother  to  New  York  to  see  her  son ; 
for  during  all  that  time  her  confidence  in  his  inno 
cence  had  never  faltered.  But  even  to  his  mother, 
Fritz  had  never  revealed  what  had  happened.  Rave- 
nel  was  dismantled;  she  never  walked  in  the  garden 
now.  She  preferred  the  exhilaration  of  the  climb  up 
the  Laurel  gorge. 

Her  cousin,  Father  Conynghame,  came  out  to  see 
her  as  often  as  he  could;  and  sometimes  she  would 
help  him  with  the  old  work  in  Baltimore.  It  seemed 
to  him,  brave  and  strong  as  she  was,  that  she  had 
more  than  she  could  do.  He  tried  to  help  her  in 
turn,  but  her  enemies  were  of  this  world,  where  his 
spiritual  powers  availed  not ;  moreover,  his  own  no 
tion  of  this  life  was  to  burn  it  out  even  as  a  candle 
is  burned  on  the  altar  of  the  Lord.  And  the  strug 
gles  of  the  spirit  are  best  quieted  by  service,  even 
service  of  the  body.  To  one  who  has  renounced  the 
earth  comes  already  some  vision  as  of  the  souls  that 
do  not  dwell  therein.  And  so,  he  put  her  from  his 
heart. 

Freddy  Wiston  was  a  great  help  to  her  in  a  busi- 
578 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ness  way ;  so,  in  other  wise,  was  Mamie  Rastacq.  Of 
Austin  she  never  heard;  but  she  kept  up  a  corre 
spondence  with  Dorothy,  who  was  still  at  Cimiez. 
She  only  knew  that  Austin  was  working  hard  to 
prove  poor  Kollner's  innocence.  So  another  winter 
joined  itself  unto  the  past. 

There  are  times  when  the  present  seems  more 
unreal  than  any  past,  more  empty  than  any  future. 
Mary  Ravenel  never  permitted  herself  to  be  discour 
aged — the  greater  difficulty  but  showed  the  greater 
need — yet  it  was  an  hour  as  when  one  mounts  a  weary 
hill  to  see  the  way  lie  long  before  him.  The  tragedy 
of  the  poor  woman's  end  lay  deep  upon  her,  and  the 
greater  the  sense,  still  undefined,  of  tragic  fruit- 
lessness  that  was  in  her  life.  The  ascetic  priest 
could  not  help  her  here ;  he  did  not  deem  it  his  mission 
to  reconcile  one  with  this  life.  And  Mary  had  a 
sense  that  she  had  sought,  first,  indeed,  to  elevate, 
but  also  to  reconcile,  Miss  Aylwin  to  the  world  she 
found — and  that  she  had  failed.  Besides,  those  years 
abroad  had  been  as  an  anaesthetic.  Life  in  Europe, 
particularly  when  one  is  ill,  quiets  one's  energy,  lulls 
one's  conscience.  Her  duty  had  been  there  to  re 
cover  her  health.  It  was  true  that  she  had  seen 
much  of  Dorothy,  and  she  had  found  her — for  the 
first  time  in  her  life — unhappy.  Truly  unhappy — 
not  vexed  or  discontented — it  was  a  good  sign. 

579 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Then,  one  day,  Miss  Ravenel  was  aroused  by 
Haviland's  telegram  from  New  York :  "  Kollner  is 
to  be  released  to-night — everything  is  known."  And 
joyously  she  ran  down — she  had  been  sitting  in  the 
gorge,  above  the  long  cascade  where  the  "  run  "  sang 
deep  beneath  the  stones — to  break  the  news  to  his 
old  mother.  First  she  only  told  her  that  she  had 
come  to  take  her  to  New  York,  that  she  might  see 
her  son  that  day.  But  her  little  feet  ran  lightly, 
with  the  tread  of  them  which  shine  upon  the  moun 
tains,  and  with  one  look  at  Mary's  eyes  the  old  dame 
said,  "  My  son  is  free." 

They  went  to  the  Tombs,  and  there  found  Armi- 
tage  and  Mr  Radnor  waiting  for  them.  Pinckney, 
they  said,  had  been  there,  but  had  gone.  Poor  old 
Gresham  sent  careful  word  that  he  rejoiced  with 
them — but  his  heart  was  too  heavy  yet  to  come.  "  I 
never  saw  Gresham  so  broken — I  will  tell  you  at  the 
house,"  said  Haviland.  So  even  the  jailers  went 
away ;  and  Kollner,  in  his  prison  house,  was  told  that 
all  was  known,  that  Magdalen  Aylwin  had  pressed 
the  pistol  to  her  own  pure  heart.  They  even  knew 
the  reasons.  Was  it  not  so? 

Kollner  looked  at  his  mother,  then  at  Miss  Rave 
nel. 

"  You  may  speak  freely,"  said  John.  "  It  can 
do  the  poor  girl  no  more  harm.  Was  it  not  so?" 

580 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Kollner  bowed  his  head.  Then  they  asked  him  how 
it  happened.  But  Armitage,  who  had  been  getting 
more  restless,  growled  that  they  might  leave  the  poor 
lad  alone  with  his  mother.  John  laid  his  hand  upon 
his  shoulder.  "  But  one  thing  we  must  know — did 
she  say  anything?  Did  she  explain?  " 

"  Fritz,"  said  Mary  Ravenel,  "  did  she  tell  you 
anything,  or  did  she  fire  before  you  spoke  to  her?  " 

"  She  fired  even  as  I  did  open  the  door — I  did 
not  even  see  her  do  it.  How  else  would  I  not  then 
have  prevented  her?  I  loved  her  very  much." 

"  Did  you  know — that  she  had  stolen  money  ?  " 

Kollner  looked  at  Haviland,  his  blue  eyes  opened 
wide.  Then,  as  they  filled  with  tears,  he  sobbed  out: 
''  You  know  I  knew  she  wass  in  trouble — the  police 
men  they  took  my  letter  from  me  and  haf  read  it — 
so  I  had  to  come.  And  I  know  nothing  more." 

John  took  his  hand  from  Armitage's  shoulder, 
and  the  Westerner  sprang  up.  "  You  must  come  to 
the  West  with  me — and  ride,  and  ride — I  need  a  man 
like  you.  Come,  man,  we'll  start  to-night.  Will 
you?" 

"  I  should  be  very  pleased  to  go  away,"  said  Koll 
ner.  "  First  I  must  go  back  to  the  watch  factory, 
to  Laurel  Run,  with  my  mother  here."  And  he 
kissed  her,  as  the  others  turned  away. 

"  It  was  hardly  a  thousand  dollars,"  said  John, 
581 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

in  the  carriage  going  home.  "  It  might  have  been 
going  on  some  years,  but  she  had  always  managed 
to  replace  it  before.  This  time,  she  saw  that  it 
would  be  discovered.  She  had  taken  it  all  from  the 
petty  cash.  Large  sums,  vast  sums,  had  often 
passed  through  her  hands  before  and  she  had  never 
touched  them." 

"  Poor  Mr  Gresham  was  almost  crazy  with 
grief,"  John  continued,  as  Miss  Ravenel  made  no 
answer.  "  When  he  consented  that  we  should  look 
at  her  book,  the  deficit  appeared  at  once.  She  had 
not  attempted  to  conceal  it.  '  A  thousand  dollars ! ' 
the  old  man  kept  saying  to  us.  'A  thousand  dollars  ! 
Why,  didn't  she  know  she  might  have  had  ten  for 
the  asking!  Why  didn't  she  ask  me? — why  didn't 
she  tell  me? ' — he  kept  on  saying." — Mary  only 
pressed  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"  We  looked  carefully  through  the  desk — we 
even  thought  there  might  be  some  letter  of  explana 
tion.  But  there  was  none.  There  was  not  even  a 
word  for  you — she  had  your  picture  in  the  desk, 
though.  And  here  it  is.  After  all  you  did  for 
her " 

"  After  all  I  tried  to  do.  I  never  could  suc 
ceed.  I  could  not  make  her  look  at  things  our 
way —  The  poor  girl  quite  broke  down. 

"  The  cause  seems  all  too  trifling — does  it  not  ?  " 
582 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

"  N-no,"  said  Miss  Ravenel  gravely.  "  It  was 
not -that  she  took  the  money — but  that  she  knew  her 
self  that  she  could  take  it." 

"  Still,  I  do  not  see.  Most  defaulters  have  some 
great  cause,  some  pressing  need." 

Coming  to  his  wife,  John  bade  her  look  after 
Mary.  He  had  never  thought  she  seemed  so  lonely, 
so  much  in  need.  And  with  Grace  he  left  her.  In 
her  plain  black  evening  dress,  he  thought  to  himself 
that  she  had  never  been  more  beautiful.  The  two 
women  sat  on  the  lounge  before  the  fire,  their  hands 
clasped  together.  And  he  could  see  that  already 
Mary  Ravenel  had  won  her  faith  again.  He  listened 
while  she  spoke  to  his  wife: 

"  No,  I  will  not  lose  heart.  The  poor  child's 
life  is  not  so  hard  to  understand.  The  world  intoxi 
cated  her — and  she  had  to  stand  apart.  Others 
might  have  envied,  might  have  sinned.  There  was 
no  sin  in  her  nature — only  that  her  soul  was  never 
touched.  She  saw  other  women  radiant,  flattered, 
followed — she  sent  herself  flowers  as  if  they  had 
been  sent  to  her  by  some  one  else,  as  she  had  seen  other 
women  get  them.  The  life  of  luxury  dazzled  her — 
and  one  day  in  the  week  she  chose  to  play  at  being 
rich.  The  world  held  up  to  her  no  other  standard 
of  success.  The  poor  child's  life  was  like  an  Arabian 

583 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

Night's  tale — her  Sundays,  her  poor,  pitiful  notion 
of  what  she  thought  the  fashionable  hotel,  the  opera, 
the  flowers,  the  carriages,  gave  the  color  to  her  life. 
Monday  mornings  the  fairy  spell  would  vanish  and 
she  had  to  come  back  to  a  drab  world." 

"  If    she    only    could    have    married    that    good 


man ! 


i  " 


"  If  he  only  could  have  touched  her  heart,  she 
might  have  found  her  soul.  But  she  could  not  get 
beyond  his  workman's  hands.  Oh,  it  is  we  who  are 
to  blame,  we  who  are  to  blame,"  cried  Mary.  "  We 
set  up  no  ideal  but  money-making,  and  the  money 
that  men  make  we  spend  not  worthily.  It  is  not 
enough  that  men  leave  millions  to  a  college,  an  asy 
lum;  dead  money  does  no  good.  And  yet  the  men 
are  not  to  blame.  It  is  the  women,  wives,  daughters, 
the  mothers  for  the  daughters,  who  set  the  standard. 
What  lesson  of  content  in  her  lot  did  the  poor  child 
learn  from  the  opera  boxes  !  Plutocracies,  what  we  call 
ages  of  commercialism,  have  existed  in  the  world  be 
fore  now.  And  they  have  fallen  in  corruption — it 
was  much  that  this  poor  child  could  even  keep  herself 
from  that.  Yet  even  Venice  learned  to  forbid  mere 
ostentation !  It  is  not  so  much  the  luxury,  the  com 
fort  that  the  rich  can  really  use,  if  only  for  them 
selves — it  is  the  show  of  senseless  possession,  the 
pride  of  possessing  things  that  others  must  go  with- 

584 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

out.  We  women  must  bring  about  the  change.  A 
man  will  follow  where  a  woman  leads.  We  must  get 
ideals — it  comes  back  to  that — we  must  learn  not  to 
be  vulgar  in  our  hearts.  That,  I  am  sure,  was  what 
most  rankled  in  her — she  knew  herself  equal,  finer, 
than  the  women  who  seemed  to  sweep  in  triumph  by. 
It  is  our  fault,  our  fault." 

The  speech  was  simple,  perhaps  would  have 
seemed  a  truism  but  for  the  blaze  of  insight  that 
glowed  in  her  lovely  eyes.  Then  the  lids  fell  again 
and  Grace  made  bold  to  say : 

"  You  have  not  failed." 

"  Oh,  I  failed  with  her — I  could  not  seem  to  make 
her  see —  The  girl's  head  sank  upon  her  slender 
wrist  as  she  looked  into  the  fire.  "  After  all,  it  is 
the  only  thing  to  do." 

"  You  must  be  very  tired  to-night,"  said  Gracie 
gently. 

"  Yes — it  is  time  to  go  to  bed.  God  sends  each 
morrow  another  day,"  said  Mary,  smiling. 

"  Grace,"  said  John  Haviland  gravely  after  Miss 
Ravenel  had  gone  upstairs,  "  if  I  had  not  met  you, 
I  had  loved  that  girl  more  than  my  own  soul." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  do  not  do  so  now,  dear 
John  ?  "  said  Grace.      And  John  thought  her  smile 
was  like  an  echo  of  Miss  Ravenel's. 
38  585 


LXIV 

MUCH  water  has  passed  beneath  the  bridges 
since  poor  Magdalen's  death.  A  year  or 
two  later,  Mary  Ravenel  went  abroad  again,  with 
the  Ralstons,  on  their  great  steam  yacht.  "  Com 
mon  rich  people,"  said  John ;  "  but  she  is  interested 
in  the  daughters.  I  am  afraid,  too,  she  needs  the 
salary.  We  are  glad  to  have  her  leave  New  York ; 
she  has  no  place  now  in  the  summer."  In  this  way 
Austin  learned  of  her. 

Austin  stayed  in  New  York  again  that  summer 
and  buried  himself  in  his  business.  The  year  before 
he  had  brought  the  boy  back  to  his  aunt's.  He  had 
been  very  ill  at  Cimiez.  Then  Austin  had  a  public 
interest  in  his  own  life;  it  was  to  be  a  critical  year 
in  New  York,  in  national  politics.  Occasionally,  as 
he  had  promised  Kollncr,  he  ran  down  and  took  a 
look  at  the 'affairs  of  Laurel  Run.  The  business  of 
the  works  was  prosperous  enough,  but  Fritz  was  still 
out  with  Armitage  in  Arizona.  A  great  dam  was 
being  built  there  and  the  acequias  commenced;  but 
Armitage  wrote  that  Kollner  spent  his  time  in  far- 
off  excursions  among  the  Indians.  Kollner  had  not 
written  to  Pinckney  as  yet;  he  could  not  blame  him. 

He  labored  at  his  tasks,  though  not  quite  know- 
586 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing  why.  Of  what  avail  was  all  this  money  he  was 
getting?  He  could  not  use  it  as  he  wished.  The 
charitable  use,  even,  of  mere  money  he  disbelieved 
in.  He  thought  there  was  something  deadening,  de 
moralizing  in  the  power  of  dollars  even  spent  in 
charity.  And  with  his  Southern  prejudices  he  dis 
believed  in  State  interference.  He  dreaded  an  in 
stitutionalized  society.  He  saw  little  good  in  the 
institutionalized  child.  One  must  give  of  oneself; 
individually,  privately,  naturally — if  everyone  but 
sought  to  humanize  the  neighbors  among  whom  one's 
own  path  led,  there  would  be  no  "  Problems  " — silly 
word,  silly  capital  letter.  Our  newspapers  make  of 
all  a  Problem.  "  The  Woman  Problem  "— "  the  So 
cial  Problem  "  — there  is  no  "  Problem  "  to  Christian 
ity.  But  Austin,  knowing  this,  somehow  could  not 
yet  give  his  self — not  yet. 

In  verity,  the  wish  of  God  was  not  plain  to  him 
that  year.  Surely,  to  those  nearest  he  had  done  his 
duty?  He  had  taken  his  boy  across  again,  in  the 
autumn,  and  left  him  for  the  winter  with  his  mother. 
Then  he  went  back  in  April ;  he  was  able  to  stay  but 
a  day  or  two  (they  met  him,  Dorothy  and  her  sis 
ter,  in  Paris),  but  before  leaving  them  he  had  settled 
them  in  a  comfortable  home  in  Surrey,  near  enough 
to  get  to  London  for  the  theatre,  within  driving 
distance  of  the  races — Epsom,  Ascot,  Henley — di- 

587 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

versions  which  Daisy,  at  least,  demanded.  His  visit 
had  thus  been  very  hurried ;  but  even  in  the  few 
hours  he  had  passed  alone  with  Dorothy  he  had  been 
struck  with  a  growing  calm,  a  self-control  that  had 
been  foreign  to  her,  a  certain  steadiness  of  insight. 
Undoubtedly  it  did  her  good  to  have  the  anxiety 
about  poor  Daisy's  career.  It  did  her  good  to  have 
their  child  back ;  she  had  worried  over  him.  Puzzi  had 
been  left  on  his  favorite  Riviera ;  and  Dorothy,  when 
she  invited  Daisy,  had  quietly  told  her  that  the  house 
was  too  small  for  the  Brevier  boy.  At  Cimiez  Daisy 
had  been  at  a  hotel ;  now  Dorothy  frankly  took  her 
in  charge.  "  It  is  only  silliness,"  she  said  to  Austin, 
"  but  it  is  such  silly  silliness  !  "  And  Austin  accepted 
it  all  loyally,  and  showed  a  thoughtfulness  in  his 
arrangements  to  make  them  happy  for  the  summer — 
Perhaps,  had  he  looked  deep  down  in  Dorothy's  eyes, 
he  might  have  seen  a  certain  expression  that  was 
new  to  them.  There  had  never  been  any  mentionings 
between  them  of  the  happenings  at  Gansevoort 
Manor — Gansevoort  had  made  haste  to  marry — he 
had  picked  out  the  handsomest  debutante  of  the  en 
suing  year,  a  girl  of  an  old  New  York  family,  but 
with  a  modest  fortune  and  extravagantly  fond  of 
horses. 

Then,  when  Austin  was  back  in  New  York  alone, 
his  wife's  letters  began  to  mention  Mary  Ravenel — 

588 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

One  wonders  if  a  deity  that  places  such  bolts  of 
levin  in  his  little  toys  of  pith,  in  the  humor  that  the 
tragic  comedians  from  Aristophanes  to  Heine  insist 
on  for  an  attribute  divine,  is  ever  moved,  not  to 
Homeric  laughter  at  their  antics,  but  to  compassion 
of  their  strength.  For  sure  it  was  that  Austin  lived 
as  if  it  were  not,  neither  remembered,  nor  yet  for 
got.  "  Nor  joy  he  had  with  vision  of  his  lady's 
eyes  "  — yet  never  feigned  a  lie,  putting  it  only  aside 
as  if  it  were  not,  or  were  not  for  this  world.  Con 
sciously  he  never  thought  of  Mary  Ravenel;  yet  he 
willed  the  way  he  dreamed  her  wish  to  be.  Unhappy 
never,  his  life  was  not  expressed  in  terms  of  happi 
ness  —  no  more  was  Basil  Conynghame's  —  steady, 
outlooking,  sure.  The  heart,  as  a  shrine,  may  be 
empty  when  the  angel's  errand  is  done — he  had  been 
near  to  falling  in  the  stony  places,  till  upborne  on 
wings  that  saved  his  soul  alive.  An  age  away  were 
now  those  fearful  days  when  he  had  seen  no  lights 
but  the  will-o'-the-wisp  of  the  marsh — an  age  away 
even  those  days  of  higher  sorrow  when  he  had 
yearned  in  vain  for  a  sign,  as  a  lost  star  to  its  sun 
across  the  interspace  of  void.  One  moment  they  had 
mutual  sight ;  then  each  had  traveled  forth  on  its 
appointed  orbit.  It  was  enough  that  she  knew.  The 
joy  lay  in  that  they  were  in  one  world  together. 

He  plunged  into  politics.  The  two  great  forces 
589 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

were  at  work  that  year — and  each  in  its  own  sphere 
had  its  subtler  reaction.  Cardinal  antagonism  lay 
between  Pinckney  and  Haviland  in  their  political 
opinions,  and  yet,  it  may  be  hazarded,  each  of  them 
wished  identically  the  same  things — like  many  others, 
as  representative  government  now  finds.  They  dis 
agreed  only  as  to  which  badge,  which  party  nick 
name,  mustered  the  fortuitous  aggregation  which 
was  most  likely  to  attain  them.  For  the  extremists 
— the  Medicis,  the  Mas'  anielos — know  well  enough 
what  they  want ;  but  the  great  honest  multitude  herd 
between  them  like  a  doubting  flock,  determined  either 
way  by  the  tune  of  a  pipe,  the  color  of  a  ribbon. 

And  Haviland  was  of  those  who  believe  that  gov 
ernments  exist  to  produce  prosperity ;  and  that  the 
intelligent  few,  seeing  the  way  to  get  it,  may  well 
be  trusted  to  disseminate  it  among  the  masses. 
While  Pinckney  thought  that  governments  should 
think,  not  of  property,  but  of  men :  see  to  it  that  the 
people  are  free,  and  they  will  look  after  the  pence 
themselves.  Thus,  John,  for  the  Oligarchs,  would 
say,  "  Democracy  counts  noses — a  republic  should 
count  heads."  And  Austin  would  answer,  "  The 
heads  too  often  look  but  to  their  own  stomachs."  To 
which  John,  "  The  heads  of  to-day  lead  the  noses  of 
to-morrow."  And  Austin,  "  The  noses  of  the  pack 
may  be  sharper  than  the  huntsman's  eyes."  "  Noses 

590 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

are  blind."  "  Cassandra  was  blind."  Then  John 
would  laughingly  curse  epigram  and  bid  him  come 
down  to  business. 

For  on  "  business  "  that  year  they  were  substan 
tially  agreed.  John's  party  was  in  danger  of  ex 
changing  the  last  of  its  very  birthrights  for  a  mess 
of  pottage ;  Austin's  of  losing  its  primal  principle 
in  the  slavery  of  socialism.  And  it  seemed,  as  always, 
that  the  extremes  had  but  to  meet  to  play  into  each 
other's  hands.  A  patriotic  President  had  stripped 
the  clothing  from  the  naked  selfishness  of  his  own 
Congress,  and  property  and  privilege  and  power 
were  banded  to  regain  control.  And  the  honest,  pa 
tient  people,  desperate  of  liberty  in  democracy, 
hopeless  of  the  power  of  the  citizen,  were  being  lured 
to  make  the  State  their  ruler  over  many  things,  al 
beit  that  it  had  proved  faithless  in  a  few.  The  astute 
trust  leaders,  the  wily  demagogues,  both  saw  their 
chance;  Markoff  himself,  ten  times  a  millionaire, 
secret  agent  of  that  very  "  Money  Power  "  that  even 
Armitage  had  recognized,  was  actually  in  possession 
of  the  Democratic  machine — while  the  government  of 
millions,  by  Millions,  and  for  more  Millions,  seemed 
all  that  the  country  needed  to  the  party  which  had 
once  been  Lincoln's.  Pinckney  and  Haviland  took 
their  several  ways,  but  each  was  girded  for  the  fight. 

It  was  hopeless  to  get  a  renomination  for  the 
•  591 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

President.  His  own  officeholders  were  against  him; 
his  senators,  not  a  single  one  of  whom  would  have 
been  reflected  by  the  people,  were  sworn  to  his  de 
feat.  Yet  recognizing  the  popular  revolt,  wishing 
to  bow  to  it  and  still  maintain  touch  with  the  "  con 
servative  element,"  they  thought  of  a  man  who  was 
now  Governor  of  New  York — John  Haviland.  His 
name  met  with  instant  popular  response,  but  he  was 
"  sounded  "  and  not  found  pliable.  He  even  told 
them  that  their  President  had  been  right  in  all  he 
had  tried  to  do,  even  in  some  things  they  had  let  be 
done;  it  Avas  even  whispered  that  he  had  ventured 
to  doubt  whether  the  people  got  all  the  benefits  of 
the  present  tariff.  On  Austin's  side,  things  were 
equally  at  sea,  to  the  politicians,  and  even  more  un 
satisfactory,  to  the  intelligent.  Pinckney  was  fond 
of  claiming  a  certain  moral  quality  in  their  very 
stupidity,  but  it  looked  as  if  they  might  nominate 
a  self -advertising  millionaire  who  posed  for  a  social 
ist,  with  Markoff  himself  as  the  power  behind  the 
throne.  At  this  pass,  Pinckney  stepped  down  into 
the  arena;  he  took  the  stump. 

The  influences  that  Markoff  represented  were 
already  shown  in  the  dry  rot  of  the  party  organiza 
tion.  No  party  in  America  that  reduces  its  rank  and 
file  to  the  condition  of  mercenaries  can  hope  perma 
nently  to  succeed.  The  use  of  money  may  carry  one 

592 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

election,  but  renders  success  impossible  for  many 
after  years.  Every  country  village  will  have  a 
handful  at  least  of  men  whose  party  loyalty  is 
based  on  patriotic  conviction ;  who  will  serve  faith 
fully,  year  in,  year  out,  in  times  of  party  success 
and  in  times  of  failure,  actuated  only  by  that  high 
idealism  that  is  the  distinguishing  feature  of  the 
American  character.  These  men  cannot  be  bought, 
nor  are  they  motived  by  any  personal  political  ambi 
tion.  They  are  found  in  both  parties — many  a  time 
had  John  and  Austin  compared  notes  upon  it — and 
nothing  is  more  touching  than  their  faithfulness, 
more  inspiring  than  the  patriotism  with  which  they 
follow  any  leader  whom  they  can  believe  embodies 
their  political  ideal.  But  these  men  Pinckney  found 
already  disgruntled  at  Markoff's  methods,  disgusted 
with  his  rule.  The  use  of  a  pitiful  fifty,  a  hundred, 
dollars  for  each  little  town,  had  rendered  their 
strong  arms  nerveless ;  the  men  that  now  formed 
town  committees,  Austin  found,  were  those  to  whom 
a  few  dollars  on  election  day  were  a  sufficient  motive 
to  work.  Such  workers  are  valueless.  They  control 
only  their  own  votes — and  those  of  the  town  loafers. 
For  the  use  of  money  in  the  body  politic  is  as  alcohol 
on  the  individual — the  dose  must  ever  be  greater,  its 
efficacy  be  ever  less ;  its  ravages  increase  as  the  char 
acter  is  impaired.  The  workingmen,  this  year,  were 
39  593 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

blindly  throwing  in  their  lot  with  the  socialists  ;  while 
the  intelligence  of  the  historic  party  remained  supine. 
Austin  had  been  at  work  but  a  few  days  before 
he  suspected  that  Markoff  was  secretly  fomenting 
this  movement.  It  is  the  failing  of  such  intellects 
as  MarkofPs  to  welcome  any  system  that  will  pre 
serve  their  personal  rule.  Again  Austin  found  him 
self  pitted  against  his  old  antagonist.  And  one 
night  in  July,  just  before  the  national  conventions, 
the  suspicion  became  a  certainty.  There  was  a  great 
political  meeting  in  an  important  manufacturing 
city  in  the  western  part  of  the  State.  Austin  was 
to  speak,  and  was  billed  to  speak  last ;  and  every 
speech  preceding  his  attacked  the  enemy — not  with 
principles  of  individual  liberty,  class  freedom,  de 
struction  of  entrenched  privilege — but  with  all  the 
hopeless  phrases  of  the  surrender  of  liberty  for  a 
promised  crust  of  bread.  The  rusty  weapons  of 
Lassalle  and  Marx  were  clumsily  refitted  to  American 
hands ;  the  evils  of  State  where  the  State  was  su 
preme  were  quoted  to  show  that  Americans,  retro 
grading  their  history,  should  build  a  State  supremer 
still;  even  unconscious  of  their  inconsistency  the 
ravings  of  Chicago  anarchists  were  repeated,  attack 
ing  our  juries,  our  courts,  belittling  the  value  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon's  appeal  to  law.  Hopelessly  wrong- 
headed,  and  yet  so  plausibly  wrong !  Many  ills  they 

594 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

stormed  against  were  true  enough  •,  how  to  persuade 
them  that  the  remedy  still  was  liberty,  not  slavery ; 
destruction  of  all  privilege,  rather  than  a  counter 
privilege  of  their  own?  His  very  thoughts  seemed 
but  dull  generalities  as  he  sat  there,  trying  to  think. 
Then,  as  he  turned  to  watch  the  effect  of  these  others 
upon  the  magnates  upon  the  platform,  he  caught  the 
sardonic  gleam  of  triumph  in  Markoff's  eyes. 

In  another  moment  Pinckney  was  on  his  feet. 
The  words  he  spoke  that  night  were  famous.  Greeted 
at  first  with  hootings  and  with  catcalls,  in  a  few 
minutes  more  came  roars  of  counter  cheers ;  then  for 
a  time  it  seemed  that  the  police  must  interfere ;  then 
steadily  the  derisive  cries  were  stilled  and  the  fair 
cheers  thundered  with  increasing  volume  as  the  ris 
ing  surf  upon  the  sand.  For  he  spoke  as  an  Ameri 
can,  imbued  with  all  the  great  traditions  of  his  coun 
try's  birth,  weighted  with  the  charge  of  this  our 
time  that  bears  her  future,  moved  with  the  emotion 
of  one  whose  race  had  been  bred  that  they  might  die 
for  her,  live  that  they  might  labor  only  to  set  her 
feet  on  her  appointed  path.  He  pleaded  for  no  out 
worn  path  of  conquest,  no  smug  commercial  des 
tiny,  no  exploitation  of  dependencies,  still  less  of 
their  own  people — but  that  she,  the  country  that  was 
the  country  of  all  of  them,  might  only  hold  high  to 
the  world's  sight  the  soft  lamp  of  liberty  at  home. 

595 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

And  then,  before  a  multitude  stilled  in  amazement, 
he  turned  to  Markoff  and  charged  his  wing  of  the 
party  with  misleading  them,  with  perverting  the  pub 
lic  fabric  to  base  private  ends,  with  secretly  dealing 
with  the  pretended  enemy. 

Markoff  made  no  reply.  He  could  make  bold  to 
meet  Pinckney  in  the  courts ;  he  did  not  venture  to 
cope  with  him  before  an  audience  of  four  thousand 
American  citizens.  At  such  moments  he  was,  despite 
all  bluster,  uneasily  conscious  of  a  difference  between 
them.  He  thought  he  understood  America — -almost, 
he  had  been  born  there — he  had  made  all  his  money 
among  Americans — he  mistook  for  patriotism  his 
liking  for  a  country  that  made  such  money-making 
possible.  But  that  night,  more  than  ever  before,  he 
tried,  in  vain,  to  put  away  his  consciousness  that 
there  was  an  American  nation — and  that  he  was  not 
in  touch  with  it.  He  despised  this  Pinckney,  this  old 
schoolmate.  He  had  beaten  him  in  college,  he  had 
beaten  him  in  life.  Yet  while  he  could  manipulate 
a  legislature,  while  he  might  by  intrigue  get  to  the 
American  Senate— in  the  ultimate  appeal  to  the  peo 
ple,  it  was  Pinckney  who  spoke  the  language  the 
American  people  understood. 

The  meeting  broke  up  in  some  disorder.  Report 
ers  clustered  about  Austin,  but  he  shook  them  off. 
The  hall  was  hot ;  and  still  quivering  with  emotions, 

596 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

he  sought  the  outer  air.  As  he  came  to  the  end  of 
the  hall,  John  Haviland  grasped  his  hand.  "  I 
heard  the  last  of  it,"  he  said.  "  I  ran  down  here 
from  Elmira." 

In  the  street  a  veritable  mob  surged  about  them. 
With  difficulty  they  secured  a  carriage ;  John  had 
to  take  the  night  train  for  New  York ;  Austin  was 
to  speak  in  Buffalo  the  following  day.  He  left  his 
friend  at  the  station  and  drove  back  to  his  hotel.  A 
bunch  of  telegrams  were  handed  him  at  the  hotel 
office,  as  he  asked  for  his  key.  It  was  usual  to  re 
ceive  many  such  during  political  campaigns,  and  he 
opened  them  with  a  listless  hand.  The  first  one  was 
dated  Rome — New  York? — no,  Italy — and  as  he 
read  it  his  heart  ceased  beating: 

"  Mary  Ravenel  died  last  week  at  Taormina,  Sicily. 

"GERVAISE  BRANDON." 

LXV 

THE  doors  of  the  shrine,  long  unwonted,  had 
been  opened,  its  stone  floor  swept,  its  rock 
walls  garnished  with  many  roses,  with  tall  wild 
mignonette,  with  Sicilian  oleander;  the  old  priest, 
by  whose  kindness  this  had  all  been  done,  had  said 
his  prayers  for  the  soul  of  her  whom  he  had  never 

597 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

seen ;  then  priest  and  acolyte  had  gone,  and  he  was 
left  with  her  alone.  The  iron  doors  were  locked 
again ;  the  little  shrine  was  dim ;  only  one  lamp 
burned  there  continually.  The  iron  doors  were  open 
gratings,  yet  no  wind  stirred  the  flame ;  once  a  day 
the  Sicilian  boy  came  in  to  fill  it  with  oil.  . 

A  thousand  feet  below,  the  summer  sea  gleamed, 
all  of  turquoise  and  of  jade — its  breath  must  have 
kept  the  flowers  from  dying,  as  it  stirred  softly 
among  the  leaves.  The  day  she  died,  they  had  been 
cut;  but  they  bloomed  still. 

It  was  a  chapel,  long  unused,  dedicated  to  the 
Virgin  of  the  Sea ;  and  the  battered  little  panel  above 
the  shrine  still  showed  her  blue  robe  fresh,  and  the 
gentle  eyes  of  Stella  Maris,  bright  as  when  an  age 
less  faithless  first  had  placed  them  there.  The 
chapel,  hollowed  in  the  lava  rock,  over  a  cliff  path 
long  disused  and  now  even  dangerous,  hung  on  one 
of  the  spurs  of  Etna,  and  that  eternal  mountain 
with  its  stole  of  snow  swam  dreamily  in  the  sky  above 
him.  Still,  above  the  pall  of  ice,  the  lonely  cloud 
breathed  from  the  fire,  the  fire  eternal  that  was  in  its 
heart — and  here,  beneath  that  mighty  pyre,  her 
friends  had  left  her — left  her  with  many  tears — as 
Basil  Conynghame,  her  nearest  surviving  relative, 
had  sent  them  word  to  do ;  and  then  had  gone  on 
their  way,  a  summer  cruise  amid  the  isles  of  Greece — 

598 


TAORMINA 


One  lamp  burned  there  continually." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

so  fourteen  days  she  rested  there  alone.  Only  once 
a  day  this  village  priest,  who  (he  and  they  who 
went  before  him)  for  a  century  or  more  had  kept 
the  light  alive  in  the  unvisited  chapel,  now  came  and 
knelt  to  say  his  prayers  for  the  soul  of  her  who  lay 
there,  a  stranger  whom  he  had  never  known,  but  as 
now  might  lie,  at  peace,  some  long-expected  guest. 

For,  in  the  sunshine  of  those  purple  seas,  some 
sudden  secret  shaft  had  smote  the  pulse  of  this  one 
and  left  the  others  unharmed.  "  He  destroyetli  the 
perfect  and  the  wicked.  If  the  scourge  slay  sud 
denly,  He  will  laugh  at  the  trial  of  the  innocent ." 
These  were  the  words  that  Austin  bore  with  him, 
many  days,  watching  the  prow  of  his  boat.  The 
cleft  seas  rolled  merrily  apart,  the  foam  laughed 
dancing  down  the  yacht's  sharp  sides,  the  sweet 
breeze  brought  its  breath  of  citron  groves — and  one 
wave  was  like  another  as  it  went  by.  And  he  still 
watched  there,  with  wide-open  eyes,  praying  for  the 
ship  to  go  on  faster.  "  He  will  laugh  at  the  trial 
of  the  innocent."  But  for  his  sins  she  had  been 
saved. 

And  then,  on  a  day,  he  came  to  Sicily.  And  on 
this  morning  the  iron  doors  had  opened,  and  he 
came  into  her  presence. 

The  priest  had  said  his  mass,  then  gone  away 
and  left  him.  He  stayed  there.  Then,  in  the  even- 

599 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

ing,  the  priest  came  again,  and  looked  upon  this 
man,  this  stranger,  that  had  lived  that  day  with  him. 
And  he  saw  that  there  was  a  change  upon  his  face ; 
it  was  as  the  light  that  now  and  again  will  come 
upon  a  countenance  from  which  the  veil  of  Maia  has 
fallen — so  much  so  that  the  priest  was  moved  to  say, 
His  peace  be  with  you ;  and  he  answered,  Peace.  The 
padre  asked  no  questions  as  they  walked  back,  not 
even  if  the  stranger  was  of  his  faith.  "  Fu  molto 
gentile  la  donna,"  he  only  said.  "  La  ho  veduta, 
che  fu  gia  morte.  Ma  era  1'aspetto  di  lei  santissimo, 
santissimo,  cosi  quelle  che  son'  in  cielo."  For  Aus 
tin  had  not  seen  her  face.  So  one  more  night  the 
Stella  Maris  watched  over  her.  But  now  the  Vir 
gin's  shrine  is  empty  once  more ;  only  the  little 
lamp  burns  there  continually. 

Above  them  the  snows  of  Etna  lay  in  the  moon's 
light,  and  they  took  their  way  to  the  pebbled  shore 
where  the  small  white  yacht  rose  gently  with  the 
breathing  of  the  sea.  Then  they  returned,  with  men, 
an  hour  before  the  dawn,  and  before  the  sun  lit  up 
the  opposite  Calabrian  coast  the  little  bark  was  as  a 
white  moth  upon  the  horizon. 

Once  more  he  took  his  station  in  the  prow. 
Westward,  still  westward,  now,  it  cleft  the  foam — 
by  Scylla,  and  Stromboli,  by  the  pillars  of  Hercules, 
the  old  world  ended,  into  the  broad  Atlantic.  The 

600 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

crew  now  knew  their  errand,  and  no  one  troubled 
him  with  questions ;  he  was  alone,  as  he  wished  to  be. 
The  green  waves  rose,  and  fell  in  foam,  and  broke 
apart  before  him ;  and  one  wave  was  like  another  as 
it  went  by.  Only  now,  it  seemed,  there  was  a  Peace, 
came  dropping  down  from  heaven.  Father  Conyng- 
hame  knew  where  he  was — no  one  else.  He  had  let 
him  go,  bade  him  go.  And  Father  Conynghame  was 
walking  now  in  his  garden  at  home,  and  waiting. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  say,  such  days  go  by  like  a 
dream ;  yet  the  dream  is  an  eternity.  His  vision 
seemed  more  near  to  God,  now  that  his  heart  was 
still.  She  saw  Him  now,  albeit  the  dust  was  in  her 
eyes.  So,  as  his  rebellious  mood  had  left  him,  it 
gave  room  for  peace ;  and  the  peace  was  even  as  a 
joy.  He  saw  now  how  one  like  Basil  Conynghame 
could  see,  one  who  had  renounced  the  world  for 
knowledge  of  His  truth.  He  saw  how  she  could  see, 
she  who  had  never  sinned.  The  sense  of  sin  had 
fallen  with  the  accident  of  flesh ;  truly  now  he  might 
rejoice  that  she  had  lived;  rejoice,  yea,  even  that 
their  earthly  meeting  had  not  been  willed.  "  Noth 
ing  was  wasted  "  — her  life  had  had  its  fruit.  Her 
preparation  had  been  fulfillment ;  and  now,  far 
above  all  stain  of  sex,  his  soul  was  one  with  hers. 
Yet  he  had  plucked  wild  flowers  in  the  paths  where 
last  she  trod — long  mignonette  and  daffodil — there 

601 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

was  no  harm  in  this ;  the  flowers  made  a  fragrance 
by  his  bedside  as  he  prayed. 

Then,  after  many  days,  low  shores  appeared  he- 
fore  him;  the  earthly  journey  he  had  taken  with 
her  was  come  now  to  its  end.  lie  landed,  and  what 
was  earthly  of  her  was  delivered  to  her  friends.  And 
so  she  came  to  Laurel  Run.  The  shrine  in  Sicily 
was  empty  now,  only,  he  knew,  the  little  lamp  burned 
there  continually. 

LXVI 

HE  took  his  abode,  for  a  day  or  two,  with  Basil 
Conynghame  and  walked  there  in  his  garden. 
It  was  not  long  to  wait. 

When  Ravenel  was  sold,  the  little  cemetery  was 
reserved,  and  Father  Conynghame  had  kept  the  key. 
And  there,  one  afternoon  in  that  same  August,  the 
committal  services  were  held.  Her  friends,  her 
nearer  friends,  all  came  there;  Austin,  his  mission 
done,  now  stood  apart.  He  watched  the  mourners 
— they  who  had  been  nearer  to  her  than  he  had  ever 
been. 

All  were  there.  First,  the  maidens  and  the  old 
people  of  Laurel  Run,  and  they  were  crying.  Fritz 
Kollner  walked  alone.  Grace  and  her  husband  John 
had  come,  and  a  chosen  group  of  them  of  the  great 

602 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

city  whose  lives  she  had  uplifted.  Hidden  in  a  close 
veil,  he  recognized  the  form  of  Mamie  Rastacq,  now 
a  widow.  There,  too,  was  Freddy  Wiston.  And 
Father  Basil,  now  the  priest  again,  his  gaunt  visage 
only  living  in  his  eyes,  read  out  the  deathless  words. 
The  sacrament  was  over. 

Long  time  they  stayed  there,  after  his  voice  was 
still.  Then  one  by  one,  dropping  their  lilies,  these 
who  had  so  loved  her  went  away.  Austin  then  came, 
with  a  spray  or  two  of  mignonette. 

He  had  kept  it  so  carefully — all  the  way  from 
Sicily — it  might  have  been  a  flower  that  had  touched 
her  hand.  They  stood  there,  these  two — Austin  and 
Basil — after  all  the  others  had  gone ;  then  they  went 
out  together.  Austin  clasped,  for  the  last  time,  his 
hand ;  then  each  took  a  different  way. 

The  sun  was  setting  now,  and  Austin  sought  the 
steps  of  her  deserted  garden ;  then  up  the  mountain 
he  went,  and  through  the  dark  forest ;  then  down  one 
last  time  by  the  laughing  brook,  the  brook  where 
they  had  met — and  known.  He  knew  that  she  had 
known.  Then,  when  it  was  quite  dark,  he  bent  his 
steps  once  again  to  the  grave. 

It  may  have  been  an  hour  that  he  lay  there,  his 
face  on  the  ground.  There  was  no  danger  now. 
They  were  alone.  Something  of  his  soul  was  buried 

603 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

there ;  but  his  sin  was  buried  too.  Something  of  the 
soul  that  she  had  saved.  Then,  at  last,  he  arose  and 
looked  about  him.  The  vault  of  heaven  was  closely 
sown  with  stars.  So  he  went  out,  and  took  the  open 
road  to  the  North. 

But  when  he  was  surely  gone,  a  tall  black  figure 
came  down  from  the  hanging  wood.  It  went  in  at 
the  graveyard  gate,  and  bowed  itself,  one  minute,  on 
the  ground — bowed  itself,  as  Austin  had  done,  a 
minute  only.  Then  it  arose — not  hesitating,  as  Aus 
tin  had  hesitated — -it  passed  through  the  iron  doors 
for  the  last  time  and  closed  and  locked  them.  There 
were  no  more  Ravenels.  The  priest  then  took  the  road 
that  led  to  the  South — there  lay  his  work. 


LXVII 

DOROTHY,  in  the  pretty  home  in  Surrey, 
waited  for  her  husband.  She  had  hoped  he 
would  come  to  her  that  summer — but  of  late  years 
she  had  grown  so  shy,  so  shy !  When  he  had  been 
those  few  days  with  her  in  the  spring,  she  had  not 
even  dared  to  tell  him  what  she  wished. 

She  had  stayed  abroad,  those  many  years,  as  she 
supposed,  on  Daisy's  account.  True,  he  had  been 
with  her,  always  in  the  summer,  sometimes  even,  as 

604 


RAVENEL 


"It  passed   through  the  iron  doors  tor  the  last  time." 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

business  had  brought  him  to  London,  in  the  spring. 
He  would  not  hear  of  an  English  school  for  little 
Austin,  and  the  boy  was  now  getting  to  the  age  to 
go.  But  Austin,  brought  up  in  Baden,  was  intense 
in  his  Americanism.  And  Dorothy  herself  had 
learned  to  see  why.  At  all  events  the  life  that  she 
had  seen  of  those  Americans  who  form  what  is  known 
as  the  American  colony  in  Continental  cities  had 
grown  to  impress  itself  on  her  as  shallow,  futile, 
immoral.  Two  winters,  at  his  suggestion  (Dorothy 
wished  that  Austin  would  sometimes  command),  she 
had  spent,  with  little  Austin,  at  his  German  aunts' 
— that  indeed  was  a  life,  it  had  some  dignity — but  its 
only  effect  on  the  boy  had  been  to  render  him  at 
once  noisily  patriotic  and  furiously  homesick.  And 
Dorothy  now  was  homesick  too. 

She  humbly  wondered  that  Austin  did  not  see 
some  change  in  her,  and  then  would  even  dismiss  the 
wonder  with  a  sigh.  The  life  that  had  dazzled  her 
was  not  American  ;  and  now  she  was  thirsting  for 
American  life.  She  had  taken  to  reading  the  news 
papers  ;  she  followed  even  the  turn  of  politics,  the 
waves  of  popular  impulse.  She  was  glad  that  her 
husband  was  in  the  struggle  there ;  New  York,  after 
all,  was  the  great  arena  where  the  forces  of  the 
nation  met.  She  knew  as  well  as  he  did  the  crisis 
they  were  in ;  that  the  President  was  marked  for 

605 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

destruction  in  the  house  of  his  friends,  the  danger 
that  the  other  party  would  not  seize  the  torch  that 
he  had  been  compelled  to  drop.  Timidly  she  would 
write  a  word  of  this,  a  question  now  and  then  to 
Austin ;  his  generous,  full  replies  gave  her  some  hap 
piness.  But  she  wanted  to  come  home. 

Much,  too,  she  had  seen  of  Mary  Ravenel  these 
last  four  years.  She  may  have  learned  to  see  a  little 
with  her  eyes.  Certainly,  she  had  so  first  felt  the 
stir  of  doubt ;  and  doubt  is  the  quickening  of  faith ; 
doubt  of  her  past,  faith  in  the  way  that  he  had 
sought  to  lead.  She  had  given  her  hand  in  his — and 
then  withheld  it.  And  now  (she  would  cry  to  her 
self)  his  heart  was  gone  from  her. 

For  it  had  needed  the  chill  of  tragedy.  In  the 
first  shock  of  that  first  step  of  shame — her  own 
step  (she  shuddered  now  to  confess),  her  own  hand's 
touch,  which  had  so  quickly  stripped  the  mask  from 
Gansevoort's  face — she  had  seen  the  steps  descend 
ing  as  to  a  pit  of  slime — and  had  shrunk  back  and 
cowered,  naked  in  ignominy.  The  gloss  of  fashion, 
the  excuse  of  custom,  the  bravado  of  the  vulgar- 
hearted,  none  of  them  now  availed  to  make  her  see 
such  divorcing  and  remarrying  other  than  as  it  was 
— the  accoupling  of  animals  or  the  selling  and  buy 
ing  of  a  better  bargain.  And  in  all  her  easy  life,  one 
moment  had  led  so  imperceptibly  to  the  next  that 

606 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

her  eyes  had  only  been  opened  on  the  very  brink.  In 
horror  of  it,  more  in  horror  of  herself,  she  had  fled 
away— and  hidden,  lonely  amid  strange  scenes,  there 
to  consider  herself.  And  now  she  began  to  think: 
and  Daisy's  hopeless  life  was  food  for  thought. 

How  can  one  tell,  without  a  book  of  words,  the 
"  tortures  of  some  differing  soul  " !  There  was,  at 
the  first,  shame,  then  loneliness,  and  many  months  of 
suffering.  The  simple,  haughty  standard  of  that 
life  in  Germany — the  tawdry,  rootless  rattle  of  the 
Riviera — and  all  this  time,  alone.  Then  once,  and 
once  again  some  three  years  later,  Mary  Ravenel  had 
come.  Their  boy  had  had  an  illness,  and  they  had 
sent  him  home,  and  then,  she  had  to  forget  herself 
in  her  poor  sister's  lot. 

So,  whether  it  were  maturity — or  sorrow — or 
the  thinking  only  now  of  others — the  shock  of  her 
mother's  death,  that  day — then  Daisy  had  been  a 
care  and  sorrow  to  her —  There  was  no  harm  in  her, 
but  then  there  was  as  yet  no  good!  That  silly  boy, 
Brevier,  had  followed  them  to  England ;  Puzzi,  she 
knew,  was  paying  spies  to  effect  a  French  divorce ; 
and  then  this  summer,  the  good  old  Major  had  come 
to  her  aid.  She  could  not  but  smile  at  the  manner 
of  it  now  !  He  had  suggested  the  four  weeks'  voyage 
to  the  North  Cape ;  it  was  growing  hot  and  dried  up 
even  at  Blackdown  in  that  August.  So  she  had 

607 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

cabled  Austin  for  his  consent  and  got  a  cabled  reply, 
giving  it ;  he  was  going  away  too,  and  would  meet 
her  in  England  on  her  return.  But  the  deliverance 
was  not  made  as  the  Major  contemplated.  For  the 
Brevier  boy  got  himself  aboard  the  Prinzessin  Luise 
at  the  last  moment.  Only,  there  was  also  on  board 
an  American  girl — of  the  regular,  now  almost  classic 
order.  She  had  brown  arms,  bare  usually  to  the 
elbow,  and  a  brown  little  neck ;  she  was  hatless  and 
athletic,  slender  and  pretty,  a  flirt  as  only  a  college 
girl  can  flirt,  and  withal  as  honest  as  a  daisy — 
and  after  three,  midnight  glacier  climbs  they  re 
turned — she  and  the  Brevier  boy — one  morning,  by 
the  early  sun  of  half-past  twelve  or  so,  to  announce 
their  engagement!  She  was  just  sixteen.  Daisy's 
only  remark  was  that  she  looked  older — and  Doro 
thy  made  up  for  the  gravity  she  had  to  enforce  upon 
herself  before  her  sister  by  filling  reams  of  hilarious 
delight  to  Austin.  True,  she  could  not  mail  them, 
but  what  did  that  matter?  They  were  written  to 
him  just  the  same. 

So  Daisy,  on  their  return,  announced  her  deter 
mination  to  go  home  and  live  in  Philadelphia.  It 
certainly  had  this  advantage,  that  Puzzi  would  have 
to  go  over  there  and  make  some  show  of  decency  or 
Daisy  herself  could  get  a  divorce — and,  spite  of  all 
the  reverence  poor  Dorothy  now  showed  to  all  her 

608 


IN     CURE     OFIIER     SOUL 

husband's  convictions,  she  could  not,  for  the  life  of 
her,  see  why  divorce  did  not  just  suit  Daisy's  case. 
She  had  married  him  out  of  vanity ;  her  life  was 
bound  to  be  vain — short  of  a  great  sorrow,  which 
her  nature  was  incapable  of.  Let  the  life  led  idly 
be  at  least  led  decently.  Austin  would  say,  then  let 
them  live  apart.  But  even  the  silly  little  Brevier  boy 
had  shown  her  what  might  come  of  this.  "  Whom 
God  hath  joined  together —  Yes,  but  had  He 
joined  them  together?  It  was  blasphemy  to  say  so 
in  Daisy's-  case.  Now,  in  her  own 

And  then  the  agony  of  self-communing  would 
recur.  At  least  though,  with  her,  there  had  been 
honest  love — yes,  honest  love — not  indeed  such  love 
as  now.  She  had,  for  love,  that  old  day  thrown 
Gansevoort  over  for  Austin.  Many  tears  had 
learned  the  road  to  Dorothy's  eyes,  those  days. 
That  love  was  not  enough.  But  now —  If  Austin 
could  know !  If  Austin  would  but  know !  She  was 
starving — she  was  starving — for  a  word  of  love. 
And  now  she  had  forfeited  the  right  to  tell  him. 

Mary  Ravenel  had  known.  Even  Mamie  Rastacq 
knew.  And  she  herself  knew,  Dorothy  knew,  that  she 
had  changed.  She  knew  that  she  had  changed.  But  it 
sometimes  seemed  to  her  that  he  had  not  tried  to  see. 
Even  the  Major  saw.  The  Major  had  been  very 
friendly  with  her  that  summer,  and  he  had  not  been 

609 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

friendly  for  many  years.  Little  Austin  would  some 
times  say,  "  Why,  mama,  you  are  crying  " — and  she 
would  clasp  him  passionately  in  her  arms.  But  so, 
the  chrysalis  was  broken.  She  had  found  her  soul. 

To  Austin,  who  once  had  been  so  nigh  to  losing 
his,  God's  messenger  had  laid  aside  the  mask.  Once 
more  the  ocean  waves  divided,  this  time  beneath  the 
stem  of  an  ocean  steamer.  On  its  deck  he  walked, 
no  longer  numbering  the  Atlantic  billows  as  one 
might  tell  a  chain  of  beads.  He  seemed  like  a  man 
whose  steps  would  falter  not.  He  walked  like  one 
to  whom  the  way  had  been  made  clear.  The  dark 
ness  that  lay  on  the  face  of  the  waters  was  no  longer 
lonely,  the  way  before  his  steps  was  filled  with  light. 

In  the  madness  of  that  first  voyage  he  had  come 
nigh  to  cursing  God  that  he  had  ever  been.  He 
had  groaned  aloud  that  she  might  still  have  lived, 
had  it  not  been  for  him.  He  had  cried  once  that 
she  had  died  because  of  his  sin.  Then,  as  if  it  had 
been  by  her  intercession,  at  the  grave  had  come  a 
sense  of  blessedness.  God's  will  had  wrought  all  and 
not  his  froward  own.  She  had  lived,  and  the  earth 
was  kindlier  because  her  soul  had  dwelt  there.  Her 
preparation  had  been  fulfillment ;  and  now  her  soul 
was  where  the  morning  stars  sang  together,  yea,  for 

joy. 

610 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

And  Last  of  all  his  heart  now  yearned  to  her  that 
was  his  wife,  the  wife  of  his  youth — his  hand  had 
never  strengthened  her,  his  heart  had  not  been  there 
to  comfort  her.  First,  now,  he  saw  the  strength  of 
his  own  creed.  Their  bond  had  been  at  first  of  pas 
sion  ;  there  it  had  failed.  Yet  might  it  grow  to  be  a 
sacrament?  And  as  he  hastened  up  the  path,  he  saw 
her  waiting  there,  his  wife,  the  mother  of  his  child. 
One  moment  she  looked  up  to  his  eyes — and  knew, 
for  the  last  time,  tears.  For  through  them  she  saw 
that  he  too  knew. 

"  God,  on  each  morrow,  sends  another  day." 
Dorothy,  that  very  night,  told  him  she  was  going 
home.  He  had  answered,  Yes.  And  now  she  was 
already  in  the  house,  happy  in  making  her  prepara 
tions.  He  sat  in  the  garden,  dreaming,  under  a  soft 
English  sky.  Beside  him  came  down,  from  golden 
haunts  of  moss  and  heather,  the  murmur  of  a  little 
brook.  And  its  voice  brought  to  his  memory  the 
little  brook  that  met  the  sea  on  Mrs  Shirley's  lawn. 

Then  a  servant  brought  him  a  telegram.  Its 
very  words  breathed  of  a  keener  sky — it  was  from 
John,  and  told  him  of  his  nomination  for  the  presi 
dency.  The  outworn  bonds  of  party  had  been  burst, 
and  at  last  the  people  of  both  parties  had  come 

611 


IN     CURE     OF     HER     SOUL 

together.  There  was  a  revolt  against  both  nomina 
tions,  and  they  had  called  on  Haviland.  "  The  Presi 
dent  too  is  with  us ;  come  at  once.  You  must  speak, 
here,  and  in  the  West.  Armitage  is  at  work  already 
there.  I  need  you;  there  is  work  for  my  Attorney 
General." 

Austin  sent  the  servant  to  call  Dorothy.  Then 
he  sat  down  in  the  library  and  wrote  his  telegram 
— that  he  would  come. 

It  was  the  next  thing  to  do. 


(i) 


FINIS 


612 


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Peake,  the  theme  of  which  is  laid  in  the  '  Egypt '  of  southern  Illinois. 
The  title  fits  better  than  usual,  and  the  characters  depicted  are  real 
people.  There  is  not  a  single  stick  of  dead  timber  among  the  various 
men  and  women." — Chicago  Record- Her  aid. 

"  If  you  have  ever  lived  in  southern  Illinois  or  the  Missouri  and 
Kentucky  neighborhoods  on  the  opposite  banks  of  the  Mississippi  and 
Ohio  rivers,  you  may  make  a  pleasant  holiday  trip  there  through  the 
pages  of  this  book.  The  word  pictures  are  as  faithfully  rendered  as  if 
done  by  the  lens  of  a  kodak." — Minneapolis  Times. 

"There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  whole  book.  It  is  well  worth 
reading." — St.  Louis  Star. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


A  GREAT  ROMANTIC  NOVEL. 

The  Reckoning. 

By    ROBERT    W.    CHAMBERS.       Illustrated    by 
Henry  Hutt.     $1.50. 

"A  thrilling  and  engrossing  tale." — New  York  Sun. 

"  When  we  say  that  the  new  work  is  as  good  as  '  Cardigan '  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  say  more." — The  Dial. 

"  Robert  Chambers'  books  recommend  themselves.  '  The 
Reckoning '  is  one  of  his  best  and  will  delight  lovers  of  good 
novels." — Boston  Herald. 

"  It  is  an  exceedingly  fine  specimen  of  its  class,  worthy  of  its 
predecessors  and  a  joy  to  all  who  like  plenty  of  swing  and  spirit." 

— London  Bookman. 

"  Robert  W.  Chambers'  stories  of  the  revolutionary  period  in 
particular  show  a  care  in  historic  detail  that  put  them  in  a  different 
class  from  the  rank  and  file  of  colonial  novels." — Book  News. 

"  A  stirring  tale  well  told  and  absorbing.  It  is  not  a  book  to 
forget  easily  and  it  will  for  many  throw  new  light  on  a  phase  of 
revolutionary  history  replete  with  interest  and  appeal." 

— Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"  Chambers'  bullets  whistle  almost  audibly  in  the  pages ;  when 
a  twig  snaps,  as  twigs  do  perforce  in  these  chronicles,  you  can 
almost  feel  the  presence  of  the  savage  buck  who  snaps  it.  Then 
there  are  situations  of  force  and  .effect  everywhere  through  the 
pages,  an  intensity  of  action,  a  certain  naturalness  of  dialogue  and 
'  human  nature  '  in  the  incidents.  But  over  all  is  the  glamor  of  the 
Chambers  fancy,  the  gauzy  woof  of  an  artist's  imagination  which 
glories  in  tints,  in  poesies,  in  the  little  whims  of  the  brush  and 
pencil,  so  that  you  have  just  a  pleasant  reminder  of  unreality  and 
a  glimpse  of  the  author  himself  here  and  there  to  vary  the  interest." 

— Si.  Louis  Republic. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


